People cross the globe to attend Toronto's Pride Week festivities, and rightly so. Santa's parade passes through every hamlet with paved roads, but if you're looking for greased bodybuilders in skin-tight sailor suits, well you're probably prepared to travel. It's normal people too, of course, but you'd never guess that from the media coverage.
Incidentally, my aversion to lesbian erotica should not be misconstrued as an aversion to lesbians and bisexuals. Quite the contrary. It's just that, having seen the real thing, I'm now unable to imagine two women kissing without one of them morphing into my baby sister.* And that, my friend, is a bucket of ice water on the crotch.
Or perhaps Jamie's right? Let's see how I score on this makeshift Kinsey scale:
Unafraid to express emotion. (+2) Hate my father (+0)** Appreciates musical theatre (+3) Never seen in public without Jamie. Ever. (+5) Had more than one A-ha album (+1) Runs an Oscar pool (+2) Doesn't own a barbecue (+3)
Final score: 16-15 = 1 (Predominantly heterosexual, only incidentally homosexual)
Straight but not narrow. I can totally live with that.
I can even live with the first words vs. pictures tie, though my position remains firm. I've spent my whole life moving forward through time. A change would be refreshing.
I suspect response to the new debate will be significantly more one-sided.
Wow. This post has run kind of long, so I'm going to save your food responses for next week, if that's cool. See you then!
*My sister's bisexual, not lesbian. I make the distinction because she'd be pissed if I didn't. **All men hate their fathers.
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