Last night we danced. 10-2:30 for free in Austin. All within a five minute interval while waiting in line in the bathroom with Amanda (my pockets):
gayboy: Are you two straight?
we [ignore ignore]
gayboy [turns head to side in querulous kitten sense except not in a cute way]: Are you straight?
gayboy parses, processes, gives us each the up/down, decides that we must be there to pick up another woman and that my “no” came because I was BIsexual.
gayboy [looks at Amanda]: Are YOU straight.
gayboy: Are you related?
we are now facing each other as his barrage of questions persists into the back of my head and then over my scalp and into A’s ignoring-eyes.
gayboy: Are you straight? Are you related? Are YOU straight?
Amanda: I’m butch.
gayboy performs gayboy shock pause.
gayboy: OH! I totally understand. [sweeps hands in conciliatory gesture in a circle in front of A’s chest in a way that makes me wonder if he had actually been touching her through this whole interaction.]
Then, from behind, gaygirl begins. Has she, I wonder, been listening to this interaction with gayboy?
gaygirl: oh my god. you know who you are?
gaygirl: You’re totally David Bowie. Wow. Totally.