Gay and humiliated

Figures that this is the only picture I have of this guy. In case you were confused, he's the one on the right. Yes, girl in the back with the beer, it IS disappointing.

My friend Michelle was going through a rough patch in her dating life, so I decided to cheer her up by taking her out for a mini girls’ night out with just the two of us. Determined to find a cute man to distract her with, I took Michelle to LaSalle Power Co., which as you’ll recall was the place I met Steven, as well as some other choice tidbits.

Sure enough, not 20 minutes into our time there, we discovered an adorable curly-haired boy standing near the opposite end of the bar from where we were standing. Both of us simultaneously caught each other by the arm.

“He’s cute,” Michelle began.

“You should go talk to him,” I goaded.

“I’m shy!” she wailed.

“What if I brought him over?”

Michelle briefly considered this. “How?” she asked, looking for a guarantee.

I smirked. “Nothing a little coy sign language can’t handle,” I declared confidently, rubbing my hands together. Then I turned my gaze directly on him and waited to lock eyes. Once I had him, I smiled with a slight downward tilt of the chin. I began gesturing.

I pointed at him. You. I pointed at me. Me. Finally, I acted out throwing back a shot. Drink together?

He looked at me quizzically, turned both hands up, and shrugged.

I tried again, this time more aggressively. I pointed at him, then both Michelle and myself, and threw back another air drink.

Cute guy responded by throwing both hands up in the air in a giant X.

“Well, that’s that,” I say, accepting defeat but scoffing at his rudeness all the same. Imagine our surprise when he materialized out of the crowd right next to us.

“What was that you were trying to say? Were you telling me to buy you both a drink?” he asks, incredulous but not antagonistic. This was a good sign.

“No, silly,” I said, giggling for effect. “I was saying you should share a drink with us.”

“Oh!” he exclaims, looking immensely relieved. Michelle and I glanced at each other, smiling, excited for this new unprecedented opening. But before Michelle and I could celebrate our victory, the boy set us straight.

“Hey, I should let you know right off the bat,” he started. “I’m gay. My boyfriend goes to Dartmouth.


After a brief pause, I politely excused myself, citing a dire need to go recalibrate my obviously very mangled gaydar.


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