I've had the joy and pleasure of being whisked off to my grandparents' house. This, of course, means the joy and pleasure of talking to about eighty people who I don't know, but remember me "since you were this tall!" and insist on hugs. It also means that all these well meaning people try to set me up with their sons and grandsons, because wouldn't it just be sweet? Gah. I've gotten bad at playing the straight, nice girl, so this was a challenge. I'm also pretty sure I didn't succeed very well, but hey, I wasn't so obviously gay that my grandparents asked about it.
However! I played a game of "Spot the Gay" at the small-town fair, and on the trip up and back. I can proudly say that my gaydar was fairly accurate, and I spotted three whole dykes and a possible bisexual in the crowds. Also, one flaming gay boy and a much quieter gay boy. I was shocked and surprised at his daring fabulousness, but he bulged with muscles- clearly this isn't just a well dressed lad, this is a farm gay, and I noticed he was very careful to not hit on or touch any of the boys near him. Of which there were two, but still, his carefulness was duly noted and admired. The quieter gay boy dressed and acted like every other cowboy, except his eyes kept roving to the other boy's abs.
Of the fagettes, there was a femme, a farm girl, and a girl who was about as rock as it gets in this town (not very rocker at all, actually. Valiant effort, though). All three were very careful, very quiet and very observant of the others, and me. The rockstar and her friends appeared to be talking about me, from their glances, so I pretended I didn't notice. All in all, a surprising afternoon followed by a dull night and an even duller day.
I'm so glad I'm home. That town puts my teeth on edge, even if (as it appears) it's relatively safe for the gays. But probably only relatively- I really doubt they're out, even the flaming ones, because to be obviously gay yet closeted is acceptable- to be out, in that town, is not.
No comments:
Post a Comment