I was invited out by a friend to a lunch-time party, which I thought was quite a weird idea. I am not a six year old child. I managed to drag myself out of bed to get there almost in time. I had no idea what it was going to be, but reasoned that it is always worth going to a party because you might meet a nice lady and possibly have a snog.
The event turned out to be a post-gay pride parade do.
My expectations were subverted and from thence the humour arose.
It was quickly apparent that there werenÂ’t going to be many ladies there and that those that were were not going to be that interested in snogging me.
It was a slightly weird experience, though not really because the room was full of men with their shirts off, in flamboyant trousers, kissing each other.
Even so I felt a little out of place, but IÂ’m not sure that was down to me not having very flamboyant trousers. Maybe a bit. Maybe thereÂ’s a part of every straight man that is intimidated by homosexuality, that is willing him to say something that will make it clear to the assembled gays that although he is at a party for gays, that he is not one of the gays himself. Though he might secretly be curious about what it would be like to help them out when they are busy.
Hmmmmm.
I managed to avoid talking about my ex-girlfriend in a pointed way, really emphasising the “girl” bit as if to say “I’m a heterosexual incidentally, but I did giggle nervously when a topless personnel manager from Tescos greeted me effusively with a kiss on both cheeks.
I donÂ’t think they needed to be told I was heterosexual. Even had I been wearing flamboyant trousers they wouldnÂ’t have needed any clues. Taking my shirt off would just have emphasised the fact.
I kept checking with myself, “is this weird because they are all gay?” but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t what made me feel a little bit awkward.
I think that the truth is that I am always a bit subdued in any situation where I donÂ’t really know anyone, but everyone else is great friends. IÂ’m a bit shy. I donÂ’t think IÂ’m unusual in that. ItÂ’s hard work trying to fit in with a group of strangers.
Also they were all into clubbing and taking drugs, both of which things make me feel more uncomfortable and square than anyoneÂ’s sexuality. See mum, maybe I drink a bit too much, but at least I donÂ’t take ketamine (and rather charmingly I donÂ’t even know what it is or does).
I was aware that I was being uptight and that was just heightened by how comfortable and easy these people were.
In a sense they reminded me of the Dr Who fans I met before Christmas, although you wouldnÂ’t have thought that to look at them. Pretty much everyone at this party was very attractive and cool and co-ordinated and sociable and not dribbling. If anyone at the Dr Who signing had taken off their shirt, I would probably have had to leave the building or at least vomited into a bucket.
The similarity was that it was a group of people who, although misunderstood by judgemental elements of the outside world, are perfectly happy and comfortable with who they are. They are self-aware and donÂ’t give a fuck about the people who donÂ’t understand them. ItÂ’s something that I envy because as hard as I try I canÂ’t overcome my self-consciousness unless I have drunk a fair amount of booze. Perhaps ketamine is the answer. But maybe itÂ’s a deadly poison. IÂ’d better not risk it.
Another similarity is that both groups enjoy dressing up in stupid costumes.
I did have a good time, despite my social awkwardness and despite the general celebratory air did get a glimpse into the sadness that a lifestyle choice can bring. One remarkably good-looking and self-confident topless Indian man got chatting to me and told me how heÂ’d returned to Bombay to come out to his father (one wouldnÂ’t have thought that a man this camp had any need to come out to anyone, but I guess those closest to us can miss the obvious sometimes). His father locked him in the house in the hope that he could cure him by sending him to a therapist and marrying him off. The therapist concluded that there was nothing wrong with the man and so his father demanded a second opinion. The son had no choice but to escape out of his bedroom window and make his way back to England. His sadness at this rift with a parent was deep and understandable.
What a shame that we canÂ’t accept each other for what we are.
At least we can make some effort to accept ourselves for what we are.
