Homo Xoming Out for Xmess! Or, “Hmuh?”
posted by on January 4 at 10:20 AM
The gayest benefit of living in such a relatively fudgepacktastic place as Seattle is this: one is rarely forced to actually divulge one’s gayness to anyone—-to “come out”, as they say. Seattleites in general understand the gay thing instinctively, and only a complete boor would ask you about it to your face.
And this is a true luxury indeed, for “coming out” is an intermindable process for we poor ‘mos. As any whiney 90’s fag with a wedge in his hair will eagerly say to you, everyone is assumed heterosexual by default, and we heterosexuality-deficient are forced to reveal ourselves endlessly to an ever fresh and often rude parade of new people, Jesus, somebody please help me, there’s a 90’s wedge in my hair. The stress of it can be crushing.
I have a five year old niece that we’ll call Katie, for lack of an appropriate pseudonym, and she’s whatcha call a pistol. She is also not a Seattleite, God help her, and, as I said, she’s merely 5 years old. But even with these considerable drawbacks working against her, I though she’d have sorta gotten the big gay message regarding the celebrated homosexuality of her dear Uncle Adrian, especially after witnessing me and her also very out Aunty Robin bringing our same-sex partners home for holidays and vacations, and witnessing us do such gay things as smooch and sleep in the same beds with them. Sadly, this message was somehow lost. Two days before Christmas, in the back seat of a car, we had this adorable and mildly startling conversation:
“Uncle Adrian, why didn’t (“Mr. X”—my ex) come with you for Christmas,” says Katie.
“Well, we broke up,” says I.
At this point she perked up like a Pop Tart, her eyes sprung wider than hubcaps, and she made a precious little perplexed noise that sounded like, “Hmuh?” After a moment she hunkered down close and whispered in my ear, “Does everyone know you’re…GAY?”
“Yes, Kaitlyn, everyone knows I’m gay! Everyone in the world! I thought you knew.”
“Nope. Does my mom know?”
I burst out laughing and assured her again that EVERYONE ON THE PLANET knows, unless, let’s face it, they are deeply stupid and live in a hole. That seemed to satisfy her, and that, as it were, was that.
Or was it?
On Christmas morning, a package marked “To Uncle Adrian, From Kaite” bore this gift:
Yes. She gave me “soap on a rope” for Christmas.
Oh, my niece understands her uncle’s homosexuality now, indeed. And she clearly wants me to be alone forever.
Your niece Katie seems pretty awesome. If it's any consolation, I am pretty positive that at five years old, I wouldn't have been able to define the world "gay."
Well if that isn't the best damn Christmas present..!
Every child that age gets their Uncle soap on a rope. Even straight uncles.
Just be glad she was aware enough to get you gay soap.
This is hilarious. At least it was Irish Spring.
True Napoleon, however, there is a quite obvious difference in the KINDS of soap-on-a-rope doled out to gay & straight uncles.
For example, mine always come from Avon or Brut.
Er... *Wasn't* Irish Spring
I have much to look forward to when my nephew turns five... and then his little sister too.
Brut?!?! Ga-wrrrroooosss!
Soap on a rope is associated with gayness? Why?
how odd...an Adrian Ryan post that didn't make me want to throw up.
it was actually...sweet!
dee-sturbing.
I dunno, I suppose it has to do with where you hang the rope.
L'Occitane is THE GAY.
Megan W asks:
"Soap on a rope is associated with gayness? Why?"
Great question, Megan W! I asked the same when i was 7--the first time i heard a confusing soap on a rope gay reference, and my mother, not quite so liberal then, explained rather tersely, "The rope is so you don't drop the soap in the shower---so the gays can't getcha." as in, when you bend over to pick it up, they will molest your exposed behind.
charming. i know.
so really, soap-on-a-rope is used to ward off the gays, which some how made it gay... my dad had soap on a rope growing up; it wasn't very successful in warding off the gayness in me :)
I like L'Occitane and I don't like grimey soap dishes. Good gift!
Please tell me that you dated the one-and-only notorious "Mr. X" from the local journalists' sexstravaganza a few years back; The mind reels...
this is obnoxious of me, but i think you meant "boor", rather than "bore".
cute story otherwise :-)
Awesome story.
This is the cutest post of 2008 thus far. Go Adrian's niece!
But the acid test is: does your niece correctly pronounce l'Occitane ? Otherwise - no soap...
I always pronounce it with a Marseilles accent, in mid-18th century French, what do you do?
(as he waits for @20 to realize there are many French dialects and they vary by time and class as well ...)
My son was thrilled my sister got me a cool bar of soap for Xmas, cause he thinks it smells nice. You don't have to be gay to get cool soap ...
I imagine the same reasoning pertains to those of us who love and consume "Polly-otchy pizza" - so many dialects, so little pepperoni. You don't have to be straight to get cool irony.
They didn't speak French in Marseille in the 18th c. They spoke Oc. For the most part.
My niece asked what being gay was (she was four at the time, sweet little girl). So I showed her a couple of videos with fisting, water sports and other things about being gay.
She has such a good education from her Uncle!!
@24
wow, your a douchebag
Well with a name like Mr X he's gonna have a hard time sustaining relationships, he'll overhear people talking about Adrian's X, he'll think they're saying Adrian's ex, he gets plunged into doubt about the future of the relationship and so on. It's all very sad.
@20 Soap Nazi!
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