Gay Toast

I saw/read/dreampt/hallucinated/séanced (I can never remember where I come up with these things. It’s entirely possible that I just invent them my very own self and am truly just that original and awesome, but I like to attribute them to external sources so as to maintain a façade of humility) this idea about why should the designation of gay marriage even exist because it’s just marriage, isn’t it? Like just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you have to throw that into everything you do, as in I ate gay elevensies (at four in the afternoon because that’s how I roll), took a gay nap, had another gay snack, and took a gay shower. It’s just not necessary. (Although I guess technically it might be with the marriage thing because the gay is pertinent information, relevant to the marriage relationship, but still, the idea is kind of funny. I personally rather enjoy the idea of preceding everything with the word gay. Just think how much easier it would be to augment word counts when writing essays.)

So then I was thinking. Because, you know, I like to think. I’m an excellent thinker. In fact, in a previous life I got a pretty tight statue made of myself thinking because that’s just how good I am at it. Actually that might have been Patrick Warburton, but the truth is like how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie pop—there’s no way for the world to ever be sure—so I’m claiming it because no one can refute it. Anyway, thinking. The way I figure it, the more I think, the more brain cells I power through, the more snacks I can justify eating. It’s all about the snacks. So thoughts: Being gay (because again, I sometimes think gay to encompass all the letters in LGBT) is only one part of who I am, and as much as I love gay snacks, that’s not always snackily relevant to what I’m snacking on or to the millions of fans I later Twitter to about what I have gaily snacked on. Sometimes gay doesn’t matter because it doesn’t come into play when I’m schooling you at bumper bowling or when I’m hammering the puzzle pieces together because they’re being stubborn and not lining up quite right even though I know they’re meant to fit together or when I’m designing a secret plan for secret entry into Area 51 (it’s going to be big).

My point is, gay being only one facet of all the things that make me who I am, I feel that I have a very legitimate justification* for not telling people because maybe it’s none of their business and not medically relevant. Unless we get into a situation when they need blood and I’m the only one on the planet who is a match and thus the only available possible donor. Then I might tell them so they could make an informed decision as to whether they’d rather die or have my gay blood coursing through their veins.

That being said, now that I’m done typing on my gay computer I’m probably going go eat a gay sandwich. I’d go gay fishing, but I just don’t have that kind of time.

*Also because I’m a coward and terrified to bring it up. But this way I can get around it. A little bit. For at least a little while.