balding angrily

Jerry and I are in our late thirties, early forties, when a person begins to be the same person in every situation. In our teens, twenties, thirties, I think we are more malleable, shifting to meet the needs of each group we invade. For instance, I’m comfortable talking about Project Runway with my conservative step-family, making off-color jokes about the contestants. In my twenties I stayed buttoned, afraid to broach any subject that might remind them of my sexuality. Now, Jerry and I still dress differently for each group we mix with, but we aren’t afraid to be ourselves.

That’s not necessarily a good thing.

Two weeks ago we attended a formal birthday celebration for a ninety-five year old matriarch of the family. We wore suits and ties, and we drank - two or three glasses of wine - enough to exacerbate our new-found sense of familiarity.

Talking to a cousin I hadn’t seen in ten years:

Me: So, how are you? How’s life treating you?

Her: Well, you know I’m a proud mother of two. They take up a lot of my time. [Husband] is doing bridgework.

Me (thinking): But I really want to know what YOU’RE doing.

Me: So really, what are YOU doing? What’s making YOU tick?

Her: Well, you know. Kids are a full-time job. Between shuttling them between gymnastics and school and errands. There’s not a whole lot more time for me to do much else.

Me: No hobbies? Nothing?

Her: My kids. I love my kids.

Me: Huh.

Then later I let out a guffaw when another cousin flubbed a toast to the matriarch. According to Jerry it sounded like the beginnings of whale song.

Jerry and I have been watching Bravo’s Top Chef. At the end of each episode, three or four judges sit behind a long table and tell the remaining contestants what they did or didn’t do right. One of the contestants constantly had her head on the chopping block. She scowled. The judges judged and she scowled. She pinched her lips and folded her arms and scowled. She wore crocs, had a nose ring, a short hair cut, and she was surly. In other words, she screamed lesbian, though she did not, nor did anyone else on the show, say so. We shared our Top Chef love with the people at our dinner table.

Person to my right: Isn’t it great? Those meals they make look so good.

Jerry: I know! We love the judges table at the end.

Person to my right: That’s always great, but what is with that one that looks all mean?

Jerry: I know! Everyone else is being all calm, taking the heat, and that angry lesbian stands up there all mean.

Person to my right: Um, yeah. That angry one. I just don’t get her.

Jerry: Right? The camera pans across the contestants and there’s that angry lesbian.

Person to my right: That angry one.

Jerry: That angry lesbian.

Person to my right: …

Jerry: Lesbian!

Besides those three things, we generally stayed out of trouble, which was nice.