Confirmed Bachelor

One of the more vile code-words for those of the gay persuasion is “confirmed bachelor” often combined with “love of musical theatre”.

But it hit me the other day, as I languished on my sofa, reading Ivy Compton-Burnett and listening to Judy Garland preparing to watch an arts showcase television programme that if you take such stereotypes annoyingly literally, I fit that stereotype.

Other than being an alleged heterosexual of course.

(Which reminds me of when I went to a gay bar and a friend of mine said “Aren’t you worried about them coming on to you?” to which I replied, “I know they won’t. They know I’m a heterosexual. Look at me for goodness sake. It’s only idiot paranoid self-obsessed ‘breeders’* who assume that every gay man can’t wait to penetrate them.” Well I said the first sentence anyway. And maybe the second and third.)

Which is why stereotypes are stupid. Okay, they do have their uses: cheap laughs for people who can’t be bothered to think of anything witty, an excellent methodology for dehumanisation and so on, but generally they’re annoying.

I once had a plan to be the campest straight man in the world, but this plan fell at the first hurdle when I realised I wasn’t even the campest straight man in the office where I worked. So that plan quickly fell down by the wayside. To paraphrase that remark about Ringo, I’m not even the campest person in my head.

Maybe I need to start manscaping and drinking appletinis instead of beer and I’ll be well in for a life of confusing people.

On a similar samesexing theme, there’s some new lesbian cake available to see.

* One of my favourite words. I learnt it from a Poppy Z Brite novel.