I can understand why people would assume that Patrick and I are a couple.
We're about the same age. We obviously get along. Sometimes we go out with kids in tow.
I can understand why the salesperson at the mattress store thought we were a couple. I mean, really. How many opposite gender friends go shopping for mattresses together? It was kind of fun to freak her out by saying, "I'm going to have to call my husband before I make a decision."
And I can understand why the night clerk at the hotel where we stayed when traveling from Cleveland would assume that we were a couple. We got one room, after all.
But in Provincetown? Well, I just thought people would be more attuned.
It was bad enough when we went into the Eros toy store. I'm sure you can guess what kind of toys they sold.
As we were looking around the sales woman came up to us and said, "We have some wonderful toys for couples."
Ahhh! God! Ewww!
"We're NOT a couple!" I exclaimed, like it was the worst thing she could have ever suggested. I think Patrick's jaw just dropped.
But that's nothing compared to the faces he was making while the women who worked in the store were doing their best to sell me a $145 vibrator. I don't think he wants to be exposed to that kind of girl talk ever again.
But I think I'm ruining Patrick's chances with men all over P-Town.
We went to The Boatslip for a tea dance last Friday afternoon. Patrick had to be at work later that night, but we spent a fun hour checking out the scenery. The very buff, tan, beautiful, male scenery.
We were watching one very buff, very tan, very beautiful, very male gentleman in particular. He was the only one on the dance floor who had stripped off his shirt.
After he brushed off the unwanted attention of a certain boy, and put his shirt back on, he sidled up to us and asked, "So, did you enjoy my show?"
He explained to us how he was just a nice suburban boy who had never done that kind of thing before. He talked to us for a while before he stopped and asked Patrick, "Are you straight?"
"Not. At. Alllllllll!" was Patrick's reply.
"Oh god no!" I chimed in.
If Patrick can't be easily identified as a gay boy with a girl friend at the gay bars in Provincetown, well, then, hell! How's he ever going to meet a boy?
But the story has a happy ending at least. Buff Man went to Patrick's bar later that night and slipped him a lot of tongue. It's just too bad that he got so drunk he had to be assisted out of the bar. But not before he got Patrick's number.
Hmmm? Drunk boys slipping Patrick tongue and phone numbers? He seems to have that effect on a lot of men.
Considering his track record, maybe he shouldn't queen it up after all.