Today was the first day of Halsted Street Market Days, a huge gay block party that takes place half a block from my apartment.
Today at Market Days, as always, there were the usual gay street fair offerings...
Boys with their shirts off, boys eating corn dogs (a fun test of their ability to do... other things...), boys in cages, boys with big hoses, half naked boys playing Twister and boys from Schaumburg drinking way too many cocktails, some of which they carry around in a mug made out of fruit!
A fruit suckin' up hooch from the inside of a fruit. Sure, it sounds like felching, but trust me, the taste is VERY different.
Or so I've heard.
But there was one thing different about this year's Market Days - - I walked through the crowd holding hands with a lovely, sweet man.
Yes, I've had a few dates with a new man. And that sound you just made - - that guttural, Scooby Doo "Huh?" or "WTF?!?" noise - - is exactly the sound I heard as friends saw me on the street. Holding hands. With a boy!!!
Some had heard about him, of course, but most were pleasantly surprised. We're not boyfriends, mind you, we're simply dating.
"Dating." Have you heard about this? What a concept!!! Getting to know someone BEFORE you sleep with them. Fascinating...
Its been very nice to go on dates with a handsome, Southern man who has a deep love of family, a glowing smile and the "Rorschach's Face is the Case" special collectors dvd of "Watchmen."
Not that he's a fanboy. He isn't. Yet.
He does love Wonder Woman though, but then, don't all gay men of a certain age?
Dear God. Look what I just wrote. "...of a certain age"? Why did I write that?
Apparently, I'm approaching the age that dare not speak it's name. I'm becoming "a certain age."
And you know what? The lovely man that I held hands with today tells me that I'm cute. Over and over.
I'm of a certain age and I'm cute.
I think I deserve a medal for that.