At a recent outing to my favorite coffee shop, I was subjected to what I can only call a horrifyingly fantastic scene. You know, one of those things that's downright awful, yet you're unable to tear your eyes (and ears) away from it. It was one of those. First, let me set the scene:
Me, sitting at my table, happily sipping my tea and reading one of the local publications. Enter a couple who, judging by the semi-awkwardness between them, have probably not been dating for very long. He's clean-shaven, dressed nice (presumably for the evening Broadway tour production going on nearby), with dark hair. She's a sight for sore eyes: alligator-skin shoes, short and tight black dress, accentuated to reveal her latest effort(s) at beauty, too much makeup, and straight blonde hair falling the length of her shoulder blades.
Wouldn't you know it, but the odd couple came and sat at the table adjacent to mine, and lucky me, I was subjected to her obnoxious gum-chewing self-important chatter for the next thirty minutes. I could easily have gotten up to move, but I was there first. Plus, I knew I was in for something amusing. And lo and behold, I was proven correct, as evidenced by the following conversation:
She With the Alligator Shoes: I'm very flamboyant, if you haven't already noticed.
The Guy: Mmmmm.
SWTAS: I am. Really. It's just how I am, I'm very flamboyant.
SWTAS: I mean, gosh, when I think about, I am so flamboyant. I really think I would make a fabulous gay man. You know, if I would have been born a gay man--er, a gay b--a gay man, I would be great. Totally.
Word-finding difficulty aside, I found the conversation to be a fascinating one, albeit stupid. I mean, gosh, really, who talks like that? It's so, like, nothing I've ever heard before, or ever, like, want to hear ever again.
At the same time, I found myself entertaining the notion that, were she to find out that the guy at the next table was himself a gay man, she might tear into me for not being as gay as I should be, in her less than humble opinion. I'd be a total disappointment to her, no doubt, especially because I lack her sense of so-called fashion. And you know what, I'm okay with that.