The second annual Pride Dance in my local community occurred last night. Last year I went alone and remained proud for twenty minutes before making a beeline to the car and heading home. This year I brought a friend from
When it is my own community and a rare opportunity to meet as a group of gays and lesbians, a sense of hope builds. Logically, I know that the gay people in my area are already coupled up. They smartly got there lives in order before moving to a quiet rural or small town setting. Romantically, however, I wonder if a handsome stud with whom I have perfect chemistry will appear and sweep me off the dance floor. I know it won’t happen, but I hope it will.
The dance is done. I am still single. When will the next opportunity arise? Do I need to move back to the city? Can I afford to move back? Can I afford not to?
I realize the dance was more than a chance to meet Mr. Right. It was also a time to chat with other gays and lesbians and build connections, possibly friendships. The venue with loud music—Did they really think Wake Up, Little Susie was a great song for a gay dance?—made conversations difficult to sustain. I felt I keep thrusting my left ear in people’s faces as I strained to make sense of why their lips were moving. I am not a natural when it comes to random chitchat so there were times I did not even bother to figure out what was being said. I could feel myself giving up.
Over dinner before the dance, I asked my city friend why so many gay social events are at bars or dances. Is that all we are—martini (and water bottle) loving club kids? In
Ideas? Am I whining too much? Do I need
Oh, if only she would. And if only I could.