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  • A Love Letter to Gay Men*

    I was once told that I am a gay man. Somewhat perplexed by that statement, as you can imagine, I asked for clarification. “You know, the fabulous part.” Having been surrounded by gay men for half of my life after my mom moved to Provincetown when I was in my early 20s, I’ll take that as the best complement I’ve ever been given. The summer before my senior year in college I went from being surrounded by frat boys wearing plaid shirts and baseball caps playing beer pong to being surrounded by gay men in short shorts going to tea dance. My life has never been the same and I would like to take a moment to thank all of the gay men who have passed through my life.

    Thank you for always telling me I look fabulous. Thank you for noticing my new haircut, outfit, bauble, bag, shoes, manicure, pedicure, eyeliner, lipstick, eyeglasses, and random accessories. Thank you for being tan in a world of pale. Thank you for breaking out into spontaneous dance no matter where you are or who is around you. Thank you for changing your swim trunks several times in one day throughout the Fourth of July holiday at the pool. Thank you for always going with me to whatever it is I want to do. (The Mr. thanks you for that, too.) Thank you for your air kisses and gay hugs. Thank you for making me laugh so hard my stomach hurts and I pee a little in my pants. Thank you for synchronized swimming with me when the only other person on the face of the earth who will do that is 11. Thank you for your house music, your glittery costumes, and your love of cocktails. Thank you for having a shoe collection at work that is bigger than mine. Thank you for teaching me the gay lexicon. Thank you for sharing Neil Patrick Harris with us. Thank you for letting me search the crowds with you for guys you’ve spotted on Grindr. Thank you for letting me be Farrah when we pretend to be Charlie’s Angels as we walk down the hall (That’s not all of you. ONE of you makes me be Carnie when we sing “Hold On.”) Thank you for taking such care in cutting and coloring my hair, while dishing about our latest respective Ptown adventures, and giving running commentary as you look over my shoulder at the magazine I’m paging through. Thank you for playing “It’s Raining Men” at your work good-bye party in that stuffy faculty room and making us ALL dance. Thank you for hating Beyonce as much as I do (Ok, that’s just me. But thank you for letting me go on about it.) Thank you for completely ignoring the US Open on the TV on the boat home from Ptown until Liza Minelli came on and then breaking out into huge cheers. Thank you for singing patriotic songs in perfect harmony while we watch the fireworks on the beach. Thank you for the joy and fun you bring to life and to the lives of those around you. A special thank you to the drag queens of this world who are nothing, if not fearless. And thank you, most of all, for being the most loyal and devoted of friends.

    *This letter is not addressed to the bear population. If you want to win me over, you can start by not sitting in my pool chair next summer during Bear Week. Kthanks.