I was out in the lobby at work the other day, talking to Mike the mailman about our recent trip to France. “Did your wife enjoy it too?” he asked.
I saw Chelsea, the student working at the front desk, give a sudden spasmodic jerk of her head as Mike said the word “wife.” She was wondering what I’d say next.
And, after a whirlwind review of my options, I said: “Yes, she enjoyed it very much.”
Okay. You know I’m gay, and that Partner is a man. Here are excerpts from the angel/devil dialogue that whirled through my head in that moment:
- He’s the mailman. He doesn’t need to know our business.
- What are you, afraid to come out to the mailman? He’s like three inches shorter than you, and chubby.
- But it gets tiresome coming out all the time. Sometimes you should just give in and let people assume whatever they like.
- That’s no way to think. This could be a teachable moment. This could be the tipping point at which Mike the mailman thinks: Hey! Loren’s gay! Gay people are okay!
- Or not.
- Are you ashamed of being gay, after all these years? I hope not.
- But you love being accepted by all these big macho men: all these repairmen and policemen and construction workers and moving men you work with. You need to keep up appearances, don’t you?
- The parking cops know that you’re gay, and they don’t seem to mind. They bring you Twinkies and Snowballs. And they both used to be prison guards.
- Well, maybe they’re trying to tell you something with all those Twinkies and Snowballs.
- Oh, shut up.
Anyway: coming out is a very long complicated process.
I’ll let you know once I’ve gone through it completely.
But I can tell you right now that it’s exhausting.
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