The Three Gayest Defining Gay Moments of Gayness
in My Gay Life of Gaiety
1. Sneaking into my mother’s closet at age seven, dolling up in her slinkiest Sears nightgown and least sensible shoes (lime green wedges with two-inch heels), slathering on as much blush, lipstick, and eyeshadow as I could manage, throwing myself on her queen sized bed, and assuming a pose that was later copied for the cover of Affair of the Hearth (a romance novel set in 19th century Nebraska), only to be discovered by shocked, stunned, and more-than-a-little dismayed parents five minutes later.
2. Attempting my first heterosexual encounter (a) out of doors (b) in January (c) in the woods behind my house (d) with a mullet-sporting girl whom the French would describe as vachement moche (generous, given her bone structure) and whom I would, many years later, encounter at the window of a local fast-food restaurant, when she handed me my sausage bicuits and impossibly hot coffee and told me that she and her girlfriend Rhonda were soon moving to east Texas to start a horse-farm-slash-consciousness-raising-retreat for battered housewives.
3. Rushing home in the rain on Wednesday night to fuel up the generator and run 150-foot all-weather extension cords from the patio, through the bedroom window, down the hallway, into the living room so that, just in case the power grid went down again, my boyfriend and I would still be able to watch 2005’s most important night of televisual faggotry: the season finale of America’s Next Top Model and the season premiere of Project Runway. (Is it just me, or would the entire country like to see a tag-team oil-wrestling match between Miss J/Nigel Barker and hot bitch duo Tim Gunn/Daniel Franco?)
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