I’ve never felt so gay as I did on Heterosexual Day (aka Valentine’s Day). Well apart from the time I turned up to my school formal dance in a pair of steel toe capped doc martins tucked not so neatly under my pin stripe suit complete with tie and proceeded to leacherously try and accost everything with tits which included Baldy Moustachey the PE teacher and Chubby John from 3rd year. I was definitely more gay and not to mention vile that day. But honestly, I think February 14th must be the straightest day of the year. It was near to impossible to reserve a table anywhere that burgers didn’t come wrapped in plastic. I didn’t know Aberdeen was so full of couples! I think it’s the only day of the year it is. Everyone makes such a big deal of Valentines Day. Over dramatic declarations of love are poured from usually loveless hearts whilst drinking expensive champagne that people only pretend to enjoy as people over compensate for a loveless year with bolshy marriage proposals that will be regretted in 2 hours time, once the fuck is over. It bugs me. Kind of. I think it’s lovely to tell someone how much you love them but if you have to wait til one day a year to do it it’s pretty lame. I love a bit of romance but I felt so intimidated taking my girl out for a meal on that one day because it was pretty obvious, booking a table under candle light on Feb. 14th that we were not business associates. I don’t really care that they knew I was a homo, I really care because they all stared at us with their shifty squinted eyes as they held hands over the table and gushed the usual crap to someone who was only there so she could tell her chums she had a date or was getting married cos her boyfriend is soooo romantic cos he proposed on Valentines Day. Puke. And the fact that all the tables were so squashed together that I could hear Joseph and Mary next to me fart made it near to impossible to even eat my crusty bread without getting those looks which said,’ jesus, trust the lesbos to be sitting near us, I hope no one thinks they are with us’. I ordered the customary beer while my lady sipped on white wine which did nothing to dispel the ‘are they or aren’t they’ rumours that appeared to have circulated around the restaurant quicker than nits in a primary school. One whole hour later we were sent packing, leaving a measley £1.80 tip behind. One hour! No one should be eating a 3 courser in an hour! Especially not a lesbo of my stature and bulk! So, it cost us £30 for an hour! That’s more than I get paid a week! Would we have been encouraged to stay longer had we not been diners at the Sushi bar? Maybe I’m just paranoid. Maybe the music didn’t stop when we entered the building. Maybe there was no slow motion walk to get to our table. And maybe we didn’t squeeze our asses into the smallest table in the corner as the hets tutted and muttered ‘lesbo’ under their garlic breaths. However, because this is Aberdeen, I’m pretty sure I was not paranoid. I’m pretty sure that the waitress did
hand us our menus via a grabbing stick so she didn’t have to stand too close. I’m also sure that the bar tender had already opened the beer for me as soon as I held the door open for my lady. And I am also convinced that I was
directed to the gents toilets on purpose where I had to prop myself up on the urinal which made for an interesting pee and a horrific sight to those, ‘I’m soooo getting laid tonight cos I just bought her a meal that didn’t come with tomato ketchup and skinny fries’ men who happened to come by and pee over my shoulder. Well whatever paranoias were or were not in my pretty little head, I did in fact have a lovely day. We saw Chicago prior to the meal because we had anticipated the meal lasting a good 2+ hours… Oh there were jazz hands ahoy! We left the cinema and I did a dramatic interpretation of a split leap down a flight of stairs and caught a flying Lil Red who flipped her leg the wrong way when trying to high kick. That’s how good it was. If I could sing I’d have sung all the way home. If I could dance I’d have danced all the way home. However, what really happened when we were caught up in the moment was that I dolloped my way down the street flapping my bingo wings at every passer by and sprained my ankle and friction burned my chin as I crashed to the floor as I tried to mimick a dramatic finale that involved a double star jump, a forward roll and fast paced spirit fingers. It wasn’t pretty but then it never really is. So, it was an eventful day for us lesbos. I'm bruised and battered but then most of that happened after we were forced
to have an early night... So enough already. How was Valentines for you?
And so I go to pull my hair out in furry clumps because it is so frizzy and seriously out of order. Enjoy the weekend.