Friday, May 20, 2011
Will You Be My Gay Boyfriend?
My old friend Girard was always armed with the most random and lovely compliments.
“Your eyelashes look extra long and feathery today!”
“That freckle on your collarbone is adorable!”
I’ve decided it’s time to get a gay bestie, and Augusten Burroughs has been unresponsive to my advances. Incidentally, this really sucks because not only could he fulfill my greedy need for the obscure flattery that only gay men can provide, but he could introduce me to his publisher who would clearly lust after the opportunity to contract for my memoirs.
I’m now accepting applications for a BFF.
The position doesn’t pay a salary, but I’ll feed you salacious bites of sexual information about my fiancé, who is hot, ripped and heavily tattooed. Pictures are a possibility.
In exchange, I’ll expect you to suggest I wear fishnet shirts and squeal with me when we gossip. If you wear plaid pants and a campy hat, that would be marvelous.
We’ll shamelessly listen to 80s music, and you’ll confide in me about your one-night stands or your boyfriend.
Will politely pretend I have no interest in watching the two of you make out.