Eve's Real Curse, or Why Yes! Every Girl Should Have a Gay Boy, Part I

Julyn has been my best girlfriend since the summer of ninth grade.  We have quite a bit of history, as best friends should.  She crushed on me in high school, and I also felt a deeply mutual affinity and affection for her (secret: I still do).  She's been the singular young woman to drop my jaw (with a shocking authenticity) by just entering a room (picture: Nic standing in the kitchen before a prom, corsage in hand, stopped mid-sentence by this gorgeous girl in pink, capped-sleeve and beaded-bodice wonder).  We've held each other in times of deep loss and effervescing joy.  She's been a constant woman in my life.  And I've been her best gay boy all along, even if neither of us were honest about it until about eighteen months ago.

The week I came out to Julyn was not a good one for her.  Another good friend of ours and her sister also had similar discussions with her.  She had just started a new job and it seems like midterms were coming up.  Three gays in two days is a lot to take in: Jules lost the job and failed a few tests.  I felt awful, but being the miracle she is, Jules got over the news, and things have been great ever since.

Except for this one time, when Corey and I did a (maybe) bad thing.  Corey, Jules and I drove to Provo to visit another of our best friends, Jessame, who was attending BYU's law school at the time.  We met Jessame at her apartment and then headed out for what Corey call's "a twenty-something's idea of a fancy dinner" at PF Chang's.  After we'd been seated, conversation took a turn to what Julyn thought would be the difficulty of finding other gay men to date in UT.  I spotted a cute waiter--tall, with dark hair and features--and flirted a little bit, getting a prompt, yet furtive glance back.

"How did you do that?!" Jules exclaimed, waving her arms, almost pushing Jessame out of the booth.

Corey and I proceeded to give Julyn the lesson in "How to Spot a Gay." I will now defer to a post of Corey's, listing a few of the things we shared with Julyn that night.

1. "Is the facial hair nicely trimmed?
2. "Does the hair stick up in any way (ie. a faux hawk)?
3. "Are the shoes pointy or at least Italian-looking?
4. "Does he have cologne in his car? Hair products?
5. "Is his butt tucked as he walks?
6. "Are his clothes exceptionally well coordinated? (ie. Does his underwear match the rest of his outfit?)
7. "V-necks?
8. 
   
   "Is there a gym membership on his key chain? Or a rewards card to any of the following: a high-end clothing store, a shoe store, a book store?"

 Jessame thought our limp-wristed demonstrations were, simply put, absolutely fabulous.  Jules, on the other hand, was less than excited.  She was shocked.  Mortified. A little panicked.


Trying to make light of a somewhat serious realization, Jules half-joke, "You mean I'm gonna end up marrying some ugly, fat, gut-laden, fart-spewing hick?!"  The pain and shock and almost-humour on Julyn's face sent a little guilt my way.  Trying to backpedal as quickly as I could, I said, "Oh, Jules, darling! Just marry a man with sisters.  That way, he'll have all the benefits of style and gentility, and you can still be his type!"


That mollified her for a while, but only until she started to count up the (possibly) gay boys she kept close.