Girlie thinks I’m gay.
I went to a fancy dress party, western theme, on Saturday night after hirin’ me some kit. Breakin' out my old jeans and cowboy boots, which haven’t seen the light in over a year, I donned a battered Akubra, gun ‘n holster, and - the gay bit - some white “bottomless” chaps from the costume shop.
At the party there were a lot of cowboys and they all looked about as gay as me. Even the Indians looked gay. The confederate soldier didn’t look gay at all and neither did the saloon girls. Or the Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. Or the Mexican bandito. But the cowboys all looked gay.
Guns were hung straight down in front – not the way a true ‘slinger would but, well, suggestively.
You know.
We eyed each-other’s gunbarrels. Our shirts were a bit too silky. Some shirts didn’t have sleeves at all. Biceps flexed, those cowpokes looked even more gay than the rest. One guy was dressed as a bar flossy (I kept saying “Why hello liddle lady”, pushing the brim of my hat up with the barrel of my gun), but even he didn’t look as gay as the cowboys.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. I want to make that perfectly clear. I’m not homophobic. Some of my best friends are gay.
At least they seem that way to me.
Gay or not, Girlie doesn’t like being seen out with me. When we go to the movies we have to go where none of her friends hang out – which is great as that means Oxford St where I can hang out with my gay … Sorry … where we can watch arthouse movies.
We see a lot of arthouse movies.
When we go to the beach we can’t go somewhere even vaguely handy like Bondi or Coogee or even Manly. We have to go all the way to Palm Beach. So, Sunday lunchtime she descends from her room and asks if we can go to the beach. She wants to get a tan before winter sets in.
Still feeling a bit fragile, it seems like a good way to chill, so off we go.
“Which beach, Girlie?”
“Palm Beach.”
What a surprise.
“What about Avalon?”
“Avalon’s gay.”
Now when Girlie says gay she means naff. So she’s not homophobic either. I’d like to make that perfectly clear too.
The word has taken on yet another meaning among the teen set. Once it meant happy. Then, for twenty years, gay meant gay. And now it can mean gay or naff, depending on the circles you travel in.
When I was a kid, bachelors were gay. Caballeros like Manolita Montoya were gay, or at least they laughed a lot which was the same thing. Gay was a christian name too. Cowboys, though, were rarely gay.
Anyway, I hope I’ve made myself clear. (Cue theme music) Yeehah! It's time to saddle on up. I’ve got my pistol in my pocket and I’m off to the Rodeoooo!