I perched smugly on the patio of Primo’s one evening a few years back listening to my Girl’s Night crowd complain in stereo about the general “maleness” of their husbands and significant others. “Now, football season is starting again,” one said with frozen margarita dripping down her chin, “and baseball, never seems to end…” “Hockey!” exclaimed a member of the sisterhood to no one in particular. “And, the endless golf…” “And what’s the deal with extreme fighting?” They suddenly turned their attention to me, “You’re awfully quiet for a change…” “Girls, please,” I shook my head, “my man doesn’t watch sports or any of that. He’s not that way at all.”
“Is he gay?” Their mocking chorus drilled into me.
