Once upon a time, over at Shamus' site, he had a post about how to spot a fag hag.
Ewww. Those words! But anyway...
One of the items in the list was, "isn’t too ashamed to take a crap at your house."
I believe at the time I made a comment like, "I've never shit at a gay man's house and I never would."
Clearly, considering how much time I've spent with Patrick, I have shit at a gay man's house. It was only a matter of time. I mean, come on. Everybody poops.
But I think I've taken fag hag to a whole new level.
Not only have I shit in a gay man's home, I've cleaned the shit out of a gay man's toilet.
And last night, I...well...I shit in a gay bar.
Is that bad? As usual, it's not my fault. Let me explain.
I drove to P-Town last night to pick Patrick up from work. We planned to have dinner in town and then drive back home. (Or at least that's what I thought the plan was.)
When I walked into his bar, he introduced me to one of his regulars. He was a sweet man, who clearly likes Patrick. I announced that we were celebrating because we now have hot water (woo hoo!) so Patrick poured me a white chocolate martini.
God that has a lot of alcohol.
And when our conversation turned to types of drinks, Patrick made his regular and me some sort of purple shot made with Chambord and cream. (I had forgotten about that shot until just now.)
Then the regular invited Patrick out for a drink after work. I know that Patrick assumed he meant the both of us, since we had been talking about getting dinner together. But the regular had consumed quite a few of Patrick's drinks. It was only after a while that he suddenly realized I wasn't leaving and invited me to join them.
Now you should know, if Patrick had the opportunity to *ahem* meet a wonderful man for a life time love match *ahem* I'd totally step out of the way. But unless there was the promise of hot sex with a to-die-for-man, Patrick wouldn't ditch me and our dinner plans.
So, I went out on a date with Patrick. What level of fag hag does that promote me to?
The regular was really very sweet, but he had quite a bit to drink. He kept apologizing to me, "I'm sorry but Patrick pours a good drink."
I made the mistake of letting Patrick order drinks for me all night. I had a Midori Sour (which wasn't what Patrick ordered but the bartender must have misheard him.) while on the date.
At dinner we each had two Cosmos. And I had the P-Town Scampi Trio, with lobster, shrimp, and scallops that weren't really cooked quite enough.
At the karaoke bar where we went for Patrick to sober up (and not to meet the cute waiter who told us to go there) I had...um...something. I don't remember what. Probably a vodka and cranberry.
After three or four songs, I started feeling not-so-good. I've never been drunk enough to be sick and I couldn't decide if I needed to sit or crouch by the toilet.
I've decided that the scallops are to blame.
I'm sort of glad I was in a gay bar, because there was only one woman waiting for the bathroom when I finally emerged. Poor girl. She's probably scarred for life.
But I took a shit in a gay karaoke bar while a drag queen entertained the crowd.
I have taken fag hag to a whole new scary level.