Reason Eight: Cleanliness

A friend recently asked me if I truly believed that all gay men were the clean, rational, fashionable people that I purport that they are on this blog. Of course not. My fictional gay husband, however, is.

I once lived with a gay man that left opened cans of peaches on the living room table for weeks, had questionable fluids on his walls, and wasn't all too angered when I made him a dirty ashtray candle as a joke. He also wrapped himself with an ace bandage to appear thinner under his wife beater and ruined a kettle made for sitting on top of a wood burning stove for humidity after making tea for a friend one night. That friend is no longer with us, but when I think how much he would have not made the ideal gay husband, I have to giggle. In addition to these "flaws" though, he told a mean story, was always ready for an impromptu barbecue and, most importantly, understood that even if you are a slob, you should clean up if people are coming over.

Now, this is one trait that I wished that HH had. Despite my constant nagging about keeping the house, at the least, presentable if someone would happen to come over, HH seems to think that leaving five pairs of shoes in the living room is necessary. Above, you see HH's pair of brown dress shoes that he obtained by trading a football jersey with some man at work (I am not making this up.) HH wears these shoes about 4 times a year, but when he does, they take permanent residence on the living room floor for at least three weeks. This is added to a pair of indoor slippers, outdoor slippers, work boots, tennis shoes, summer sandals, and an old, old pair of shoes that are worn while playing drums once or twice a month. Now, when we get a call that someone is on their way, HH does not simply carry them upstairs to the closet. Instead, they are pushed against the wall or hidden in a nook. Because people obviously want to sit in a room full of your stinky shoes.

I do not try to argue that I am the cleanest person alive, but I do see the need for dusting. Not too long ago, HH told me that dusting once or twice a year wasn't a bad idea. When we first started dating, he confessed that he hadn't cleaned his kitchen floor in 4 years - the floor that I walked barefoot on. While I mopped it, though, I realized why we needed indoor slippers. I have now come to believe that HH believes that our house has a magical fairy that cleans the toilets and washes the dishes since he never offers to do either.

So, while I know that not every gay man would have an immaculate sense of cleanliness, my ideal gay husband would at least rush around to put dirty dishes in the oven when guests were coming over.

Reason seven: Tape

It's not just tape, but the useless accumulation of things that might be used for a "home improvement project" one day that is my latest reason. Here, you see a drawer full of tape. Unfortunately, this is not the only stash of tape that we have. I have used tape from this drawer about three times - electrical tape on a cord and masking twice. HH, however, uses tape for everything...way too much on boxes, gift wrapping, and decorating.

Notice that tape is not the only occupant of this drawer. Baseball cards. Hooks. Twine. Fishing Lure. Only a hetero man would have this odd combination of things in a drawer...a drawer that could be much better used for other things - extra linens or, call me crazy, clothes.

Other items that he stockpiles ridiculous amounts of are hiding in other places, as well. Boxes and boxes of light bulbs fill a closet, but my insistence for new non-early 80s light fixtures are ignored. We have enough screws to last a lifetime, but every trip to a hardware store requires the purchase of more. An entire toolbox of screwdrivers doesn't cause so much as a blink.

While all of these items drive me crazy, this one use of tape desperately wants me to have a different type of husband. Quite a while ago, HH "fixed" the back storm door when the screen was ripping. HH doesn't see the problem with it. HH will leave this like this until I fix it myself, like many of the "improvements" that he makes. HH didn't even have the sense to use one of the 17 rolls of clear tapes that he has in the drawer. So I leave you with

this, my ghetto back door fixed with tape, a memorial of sorts to my

dream of having a gay husband.

Reason six: Certainty

Those who know me know that I am a student of people. I watch them, analyze them, and silently diagnose them (fyi, almost everyone has some characteristics that give them a mental health diagnosis in my mind.)

My most recent observation of people is one of numbers. If ten percent of the population is gay, it stands to reason that ten percent of most families are. HH has an incredibly large, Catholic family so recent comversations have led themselves to guessing who the ten percent might be, if this is so.

Although we agreed on possibilities, the chance always remains that HH is one of them. I don't actually think that my husband is gay, but he certainly has some tendencies that make me wonder from time to time. Not wonder in a serious way, but wonder if sexuality is, itself, a myth.

A few nights ago, I caught HH in the refrigerator holding this little bottle of lemon juice and saying, "This is so cute" in a baby, singsong type of voice. A lemon juice bottle is cute? This is not the first time I have caught HH saying this about something, but certainly the most odd of all of the things.

Then there are the man crushes that all hetero men have. Once, HH wanted me to buy him a t-shirt because one of his friends would love it when he wore it. It was a Mustang shirt (the car, not the horse), removing some of the gayness from the proposal. I, however, agreed with the arangement that he admitted he had a non-sexual crush on the friend - a la Seinfeld and Keith Hernandez. He can also call another friend and chat for an hour about what they ate that day, what songs are really "killer", and gossip about other friends. This definitevely "girly" behavior make me wonder...are we all really just the same and just happen to land in a body with certain parts? (Note: I am not saying that gay men are girly, just that these are not typical hetero man behavior.)

Just as soon as HH leaves me in awe, his hetero flag flies when he dresses himself in 15 year old acid washed jeans and a free cigarette t-shirt or bores me with a 20 minute discussion of cold air intake on a vehicle or dances his self-named "clothes dance" (don't ask.)

HH sometimes purports that there is no such thing as bi-sexuality; yet, he gets a certain amount of emotional happiness from impressing his male friends with a t-shirt. A typical hetero man would make more money, get a bigger house or a faster car to do this. HH, however, dresses pretty for his man.

While I know HH's sexuality, if I were married to a gay man, I would always be certain. I would not have a headache from pondering the whole concept of sexuality as a whole (let's face it, none of us understand it, it just is.) Or is it better to remain uncertain?

Reason five: Random Acts of Decorating

I almost always fall asleep before HH. Usually, this is not a problem, but there are some mornings that I awake internally screaming, why oh why?



This first happened when the side mirror on my car was damaged and hanging partially off (no, this did not have anything to do with me hitting the garage...). HH proudly announced that he would fix it. Well, he did. By screwing it onto the car. Genius...



More disturbing than fixing a car in the most ghetto way possible, are the "decorating ideas" that HH gets in those evenings while I sleep unknowingly on the couch.



I decided to get this wall mirror after I realized that I am very, very bad at plucking my eyebrows in the medicine cabinet mirror. HH gladly hung it on the wall for me, BUT put it at his eye level (a good five inches higher than mine.) It does swivel, but HH needs to check his bald spot every two hours so evidently, that was more important. A few weeks later during my slumber, I awoke to the sounds of banging. I immediately ran to the source; HH was hanging up his brush and dollar store hand mirror (also used to check the bald spot.) There are two reasons that made me most angry about this...well, maybe three. First, I have never seen HH use this brush, he is mostly a comb user. Second, with the new swivel, movable mirror, hand mirror is really no longer necessary. And, last, this is the guest bathroom, they don't want to see your crap hanging on the wall AND the room is painted pretty bright ORANGE; we really don't need more craziness going on. Oh, and a fourth reason, notice the patched holes that needed to be made to hang just two items - very classy.



Besides the bathroom "decorating", HH has tried to slip several other items onto walls while I slept. There was the STL Cardinals miniature base that was taped to a hallway wall with electrical tape. Recently, a sheet of USPS Commemorative Star Wars stamps was added to an extra bedroom wall with scotch tape' only one usable stamp remains so I hope that this will soon be removed. An ongoing fight was a metal sign of an old advertisement for guns and ammo that I recently won and it holds a rightful place on the garage wall.

As if these guerrilla decorating efforts aren't bad enough, I often have to spend time arguing about ridiculous ideas. In an effort to not bore you, I will share only my favorite: We had a minor mishap when we bought a new television. It was too big for the cabinet, so we had to dismantle it and the poor tv simply sits on the bottom. HH believes that this is too low to the ground (it is about a foot or so). So, for Christmas he asked for bed risers. My mother indulged not knowing that his plan was to bring a nasty, greasy car jack into the house, jack the tv up (it is terribly heavy), put the bed risers under each of the legs and create a new "entertainment center." This argument got all the way to the attempt. Thankfully, the jack could not get the tv high enough - crisis averted.

I am not so naive to attempt that my gay husband and I might not have blow outs over decorating. But I am fairly confident that I would not wake up to sports memorabilia taped to a wall. I am pretty sure that the goal for the bathroom would be a spa like interior rather than a wall of grooming items. I doubt that I would have a two year argument over a sign for guns (unless, perhaps, we were talking about arms as guns).

No amount of watching HGTV will ever make HH a "good decorator". No amount of complaining seems to stop the late night tape sessions. I have learned that I must do a walk through in the morning to see if anything has been added to his gallery of oddities.

The frustrating part is that I think that people still see a hetero home's decor as a reflection of the woman living there no matter what. People assume it is the woman's taste, the woman's effort. Yet my efforts are overshadowed by HH's weird decorating power struggle. If I had a gay husband, at the least this burden would be shared. I wouldn't spend hours arguing over junk furniture and maybe, just maybe, I would be able to fall asleep and not worry.

Reason four: Wildlife Obsessions

I recently wondered why people (okay, usually men) are obsessed with sharks, tigers, snakes, etc. Sure, we can learn a lot from animals, but it seems like the hetero man is often enamored with animals that lurk and maim. I can't tell you how many times I have had to listen to the list of poisonous snakes around the world. Not that HH (hetero husband) would ever go to Egypt; but just in case, he knows which is the most poisonous snake there.

Our honeymoon package included admissions to "Ocean World"; an adjoining property that was like a mini-Sea World. After taking in the sea lion show, walking through the mini-rainforest, andsnorkeling through a coral reef in a tank, HH decided that we needed to watch the shark show...twice. We didn't need to see the dolphins or relax in one of the pools. We did, though, have to go to the tiger feedings...twice. Then, we needed to have our photo taken feeding the tigers...in a bathing suit. (Not pretty.)

Somehow, sea lions flipping, smiling, swimming was much less entertaining than a nurse shark swimming after a drop of blood to HH. Somehow a hunk of meat pushed through VERY thick plexiglass was more exciting than holding some exotic bird.

Now, if this obsession was limited to real life experiences, it might seem more understandable. I much prefer a pet talent show to watching sharks swim or someone poke at a snake with a stick. HH, however, wants to watch these shows (when not watching the military channel) all the time. But somehow the connection makes sense. Animals are like a little military outfit. Travelling in packs. Doing anything for food - Predators stalking lunch.

So, I think that I have come to understand that despite years of evolution, HH is still just a caveman; thrilled by a new animal, waiting for blood.