The Fair

Long time, no post. Oh well, I'm sure the summer days have seen you baskin' under oak trees, throwin' rocks, fishin', and chewin' on wheat stalks. No?

We went to the fair last night. Robin and I met up with Doug, James, Eric and Chandra. The checklist we had (and always have) was to see the animals, booths, midway, get dinner, basket fries, funnel cake and if there's room onion rings. You see, I normally do quite a good job of staying away from the fried foods. When ordering at restaurants, I am shameless enough to ask for a few fries off another person's plate while smugly asking for a side salad with olive oil and balsamic vinegar dressing. One time at Steelhead Brewery, I heard their dressing options but didn't hear "balsamic vinegar", so I asked if they had an oil and vinegar dressing. Turns out they don't, but the waitress told me they did and proceeded to bring me two individual plastic Pepto-Bismol cups, one filled with red wine vinegar and the other with Canola oil. By the time I realized that the oil was of the Canola variety, the server had strolled off and I was too hungry to ask for more dressing. Bad idea. Don't ever put Canola oil on your salad. For the love of god, DON'T do it. Wait, what was this post about again? Oh yeah.

The fair is always such an interesting experience for me, both socially and culturally. Going with another gay couple (Eric and Chandra), I was hopeful that I wouldn't feel the same way I did last year when we went with a straight couple. That is to say, I didn't think I would suffer the inevitable glares from people who don't get out much and see difference in their world. After all, with two gay couples, we were twice as formidable! However, a powerful insecurity soon choked me when I felt the first stare. All Robin had to do was pat my tush or say the three words and we got families, parents and others silently screaming for us to take our faggot asses out of their quality time.

(Note: blogger.com is trying to spell-correct the word "faggot". Hooray for you, Blogger! Way to avoid lawsuits!)

I let my insecurities get the best of me by allowing those people to win. I would quickly (dis)regard Robin's affection rather than basking in it like I desperately wanted to. The food was great, the animals are friggin' adorable (e.g. piglets who were rubbing against our hands and sniffing us with their soft little noses), and the booths were chatchkirific. Everything I wanted from the fair was bestowed upon me, with beloved memories of my childhood surfacing again and again. Everything, that is, except the ability to cope with my own insecurity. But that isn't the fair's fault now is it?

I went home with a tummy ache from the oily food and a sincere displeasure with myself. What are those country bumpkins going to do, anyway? Start shit? Why shouldn't I be able to have fun with my man in my town? This morning, I feel ashamed that rather than have to bravery to show others that love comes in all shapes and sizes, I stopped myself from being a genuine person. I walked around like a shadow of myself, dodging the faintest light. Last year, I just blamed my reaction on the "rednecks", but next year I'll tell you what. No more Mr. Nice Gay!