Yesterday I was carried along on a sea of drunken, happy, sexy, reveling bodies to a Tiki party that turned out to be just what I needed. I had on my Hawaiian print dress, a little bit of sparkle, and some red lipstick, and off I went into the throng. It was delightful. People were dancing, kissing, singing, showing each other their breasts, and whole families were wandering through to witness the spectacle.
I felt incredibly happy, and proud that I live in a city where people are encouraged to celebrate their sexual orientation. Pride doesn’t seem to be just for the gays anymore. There were lots of hetero couples out holding hands and strolling along. In fact, I met one very tall, very beautiful couple on my way. He was leading her around on an elegant leash. She kissed me on the cheek and told me I looked like a movie star. Okay, maybe they were a little bit gay.
The leather and the painted bodies and the naked men and the ridiculous drag queens nearly brought a tear to my eye. It was so much good old-fashioned hedonism, that my tender pagan heart half-expected to see a huge bonfire in the centre of it all.
The gay teens really touched me. When I think of all the friends I had in high school who were so deeply closeted because of our soccer-loving, hard-core Euro alma matter, it makes me wonder how much better their lives might be now if they had spent their formative years in a more supportive environment.
Sometimes I think I’d be the perfect parent to a gay child. Universe, if you’ve got one you want to send this way when the timing is right, I’d be okay with that.
Of course, my gay son would probably end up being a super straight-laced investment banker. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.