Ok, so I couldn't go to bed yet. Though I should because I have to be up at freeking 6 am on a Saturday (FML much?). But I was on the phone with my friend who lives in NYC, and he was telling me about his new found interest in skin care products.
Alright, lets take a stroll through a little background of me here. Yes, I am gay. No I do not wear make up, wash my hair everyday, spend more than 20 minutes in the bathroom, OR use skin care products (which I'm not knocking, I probably should take more care of my skin). Just want you to get a good mental image here, I am not a typical stereotype of homosexuality that most people have. I like football and beer, just as much as themed dinner parties with green apple martinis (YUM!!).
But here I am talking to my friend about skin care products whilst my boyfriend gives me the most wonderful back massage (Note to all: It is wonderful when you are not muscular but have a muscular boyfriend, he'll give great massages, but doesn't want you to reciprocate with your weak ones). And he is telling me that he just doesn't understand why his face was never shiny before. My mind pauses, and I think, and then tell him that his face was always a little shiny to me, I figured he just had oily skin (or greasy, I can't remember which word I used). Well that just pulled his pony tail. How was I to know that the shiny-ness is something desirable and obtained by banishing the oils from your skin and replacing them with hydrolic vitamin thingies or something like that. Ugh! So, he begins just going off into all these things I don't know nor care to know about skin care. And so I put the phone down and put it on speaker phone. Well, who gets into the conversation, but our one and only Fraggot. Yes! He has been secretly using these skin care products that I knew nothing about. I must say his skin is wonderful. And the two start going off on their own conversation. I love my boyfriend for many reasons, now I can add to it relating to my friends and rescuing me from very gay conversations.
After the conversation Scott (Ok, guess I'm switching around now, keep track, Scott=Fraggot) tells me that I have lots of pretty things. Thanks? I don't know what he means by that. Well, he tells me he likes the art I have. And the antiques I have. And the rug. In generall the decorum of my place. WTF where did this guy come from? He's never told me he like pretty things at all. Ever. Not once. Go antiquing? Him? Never! Apparently that conversation with a real life queen about skin care products just opened up all that repressed gayness inside his pretty little chest. Maybe now I can get him to the gay club. Won't hold my breath :P
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment