How many times have you found yourself at the florist, Dear Breeder, or the fabric store or off-track betting parlour, and wished you could communicate more effectively with the obvious homosexual working behind the counter? You’ve seen him give vigorous, award-winning customer service to other floral enthusiasts/stay-at-home seamstresses/gambling addicts. What’s so wrong with you?
You and millions of clueless heterosexuals just like you are not alone, Dear Breeder. That’s why I’ve drawn up a few handy tips, to help you get the service you’ve come to expect from the minority group you’ve come to despise. Once you’ve got the hang of these basic guidelines, I guarantee you’ll be thinking, talking, and acting like a homosexual in no time!
Without any of that sinful wriggling around in feces your religious leaders and congresswomen can’t help but picture us engaged in, of course…
“Wait a minute, you mean most nights you guys just
make dinner and argue about what’s on tv?”
First, take a deep breath and picture yourself in the homosexual’s shoes, platform boots, or gardening clogs, as the case may be. To demonstrate your newly-feigned sense of empathy, you should begin the conversation with a simple, yet heartfelt apology. It doesn’t matter what for, just make something up. Remember, it’s not a lie if you yourself don’t believe it. This may seem counterintuitive, Dear Breeder, but once you too have spent an entire shared cultural history diminishing and making amends for your very existence, I think you’ll find that the words “I’m sorry” roll right off the tongue.
Next up, try lightening the mood with a joke. We gays spend a lot of time brooding about all the many ways we’ve been wronged, and love nothing more than a hearty chuckle at the end of a long, humiliating day of public visibility. And don’t worry about bringing your A game! We gays will laugh at almost anything, even if your material is as tired as Dan Choi’s Grindr profile.
Pushy activist seeks same for steamy equal rights fantasy play.
Finally, take every opportunity to pepper your language with what little gay slang you’ve managed to cobble together over the years. I’m not asking you to become fluent in Polari overnight, simply suggesting that, under the right circumstances, a well-timed “Queen, please!” will go a very long way toward getting what you want. (As may a casual reference to hot yoga and butternut squash, depending on the gender aspect of the listener.) Best case scenario, you’ve cracked the code and made yourself a new friend! Worst case scenario, you’ll come across as the incoherent, babbling member of the general public we’ve already pegged you to be. Either way, it’s another victory for modern gay rights!
If, after several attempts, none of these techniques has proven effective, Dear Breeder—take heart. It’s not your fault. Like Navajo, ours is a language impossible to master unless you were born into it. We gay people communicate through a finely-woven tapestry of verbal and nonverbal cues: elaborate series of low-frequency throttles and rumblings, high-pitched buzzings and hisses, pheremonal signals and glandular secretions. And of course, our patented Ojos Brillanticos™ Technology.
Our eyes are the windows to the closed doors of our parents’ souls.
When all else fails, just keep on grumbling, pointing at things, and sweating all over the counter. The gay-in-charge will eventually figure out what you want—most likely by rolling his eyes and deciding for you. And when you get home and find you have to explain to your wife why the minivan is stuffed with lemon yellow crinoline or silk magnolias or losing pull-tabs, I strongly suggest you take a reflective moment, look into her eyes, and tell her you’re sorry.
Just like I taught you.
