I got to go out with adults last weekend. Adults other than Julie, that is. First time in, well, best not think about it.
It was Mommies’ Night Out, and, through the good graces of the host and some luck on my part (maybe my new haircut had something to do with it), I got invited, too. Yay, me.
There was one other non-threatening male there, but he’s even more gay than I am. See, I figure I’m “part gay” like some people say they’re “part Irish.” A while ago it was called “metrosexual” but I think it’s back to being called “closeted.” But that doesn’t really cover it. I think I could get with the whole gay agenda, such as it is, except for that one minor detail.
I can’t make it to the gym seven times a week.
Oh, yeah, and the whole sex thing. But the flamboyance, the fun, the bitchiness, the lack of lunar cycles, and the constant horniness is something I could get behind. But of course I’m being unfairly jocular about the matter. I’ve never been beaten up or discriminated against or whatever because of my biological makeup. Or my Tammy Faye makeup. Therefore I know that I haven’t really earned the right to be bitchy or flamboyant or those other things.
Anyway, the event was karaoke night in a diner in Red Hook. It was a blast, I thought. But watch, now I’ll never get invited again.
It started out seeming like a prank, anyway. I took a bus there. Everyone else drove. Traffic and organization being what it is, I was there about twenty minutes before everyone else, even though I was there about half an hour after it was supposed to begin.
Luckily all my tears had dried by the time everyone showed up, and my makeup hadn’t run.