So, I got a free Cinnabon today. I haven’t had one of those in, seriously, like ten years. Mebbe even longer. I felt kinda bad ‘cause I know that each one has approximately enough calories to feed a small village in Laos for a week, but it was free and honestly, it just smelled so damn goooood.
“FUKKIT. JUST EAT IT.”
“Okay, okay, I will, stoopid Inner Imp, but I’m going to blame you if—OHMIGAWDS WHAT IS THIS HEAVENLY SUBSTANCE I AM CHEWING ON?!?”
Originally, I had texted my sister offering to share it with her, but then it started raining, and, as I honestly and forthrightly told her, while I do love her enough to share my Cinnabon, I happen to hate rain more than I love her. Although only by a really, really small margin. (By the way, she said she forgave me and that her ass thanked me for my honesty.) I took that first delectable, sinful, ass-expanding bite and immediately food-gasmed.
Which is the lead-in story to #2 of My Top 5 Irrational Fears: How Do I Know For Sure That I’m Not Gay??
Um, back to the story.
Okay, so I just foodgasmed. Of course I texted my sister thus, and I quote:
—“O.M.G. I haven’t had a Cinnabon in literally years and they are FUCKING AWESOME!!!”
—“And yes, I just ate out the middle ‘cause I am a porn-like Cinnabon whore!!”
My sister was understandably confused, by the way. And she’s, like, super-de-dupity smart. She’s an attorney. The good kind.
So you see my dilemma, RIGHT?
No? Okay, well, look: I’m happily (more or less..heh) married, have dated only men, have fantasized only about men (and chocolate, let’s be honest), have only ever been attracted to men (Nick Rhodes of Duran Duran counts...?), and I find the huge quantities of nekkid boobage in A Game of Thrones to be tedious. Granted, when asked once if I could “do it” with any woman in the world, who would it be, I immediately answered “Madonna” (pre-Ray of Light, of course). But otherwise…not that I have really noticed.
And then I send a text like the one above. And I find Botticelli nudes not just beautiful but also kinda sexy. I really dig the song, “I Kissed A Girl” and I think Katy Perry is adorable. Aaaand sometimes I think: “If someone asked me who I’d do it with now, I’d totally change my answer to Angelina Jolie ‘cause she’s got those lips and I bet she knows how to get fah-rea-kyyy!”
So, in a rather large nutshell: I don’t know for sure that I am definitely not gay because I don’t know for sure what it’s like to definitely be gay! Ergo, I cannot rationally and definitely rule out that I am not gay.
Not that I would be bummed if I was gay—I’ve had to deal with man-bullcrappery often enough to have joked out loud that I wish I were. No, my real fear—and here’s where the crazy-pants go on super-fly tight—I do worry that on the chance that I might be gay, then I am not be living my authentic self. It bothers me that I may secretly and unbeknownst to me be in the closet. Crappity! How can I not know that about myself?
Also, I am running out of ways to emphasize words in this blog.
Then I worry that I should focus even more on LGBT rights, as opposed to more on feminist issues, that I’m not doing enough for my potential “gay brothers and sisters and all in-betweeners.” <-- Not an actual saying that is deserving of quotes. I just made that up. But it sounds nice and catchy and kinda relevant, no? :)
Then I wonder if I should talk to The Limey about this.
“Haha, weirdo—if you’re really so worried, maybe you should talk to The Limey about this.”
“And show my husband exactly how much crazy he married? Shuddup you sabotaging Inner Imp! Quit being such a douchebag. No more Cinnabon for you.”
Sidenote: Although, in all fairness, The Limey has probably heard worse from me before. Yet I’m pretty sure he’s still married to me. I’m starting to suspect it’s because he actually loves me…but likely probably he loves his green card more. ‘Cause England is such the horrible place to live, what with the free health care and ancient architecture and deep culture and close proximity to the rest of Europe. Who wants that? Blech. Plus we have better food and lots more of it. LOTS. And we have Taco Bell and other Mexican food that is actually yummy, even though he doesn't like Mexican food 'cause he got really bad food poisoning from one of his first Mexican meals here in the U.S., but whatevs. iViva el taco cart!
So, back to me possibly maybe being gay.
You know, in the interest of finally laying to rest this question once and for all, I wish there was a way I could really know what it’s like to be gay. Only without the part where I would have to make out with another woman ‘cause that’s just kind of a yukky thought. Or sexing one up. Um, eww. To quote Stephen Fry: "After I was born, I looked back and thought, 'Right. Last time I'm going in one of those.'"
Hee. Stephen Fry is funny. I love him. Oh crap—MAYBE I'M ACTUALLY A GAY MAN! Dangit, now I really need to have a talk with my husband. Bugger. Aw, see? It could be! Poop.
Uh, I did warn you that this My Top 5 Irrational Fears, right? Oh good. //
EDIT: I feel like I should clarify that my actual fear is not whether or not I am gay. No, my actual fear is really the uncertainty of being uncertain because there is no possible way to be certain. With any degree of certainty. Kinda like being able to state with absolute proof if there really is a God or a Heaven or if unicorns EVER existed or if there can ever be a truly tasty low-calorie chocolate. Actually, I'm pretty certain that last thing is a myth. //