Not a Couple of Gay Dudes

The patio at the restaurant is quite nice. Once the sun goes down and we turn on the twinkling white lights overhead and light the tiki torches, it's almost impossible to notice the dirty bent up metal chairs and the mosquitoes flying around looking for someone to infect with the West Nile Virus. Dare I say it's romantic? I suppose if you're sitting at the one table that doesn't wobble, the neighbor hood raccoon is not hanging around table 21 and the moon is overhead that night, it could be.

Two men come in and they ask to sit on the patio. I pick up two menus and lead them out back where there happens to be a full moon shining brightly overhead.

"Wow, it's kinda romantic," says the guy in jeans and a loose black t-shirt.

"Oh yes," I reply. "I mean, look at that full moon, it's gorgeous."

The other guy, wearing a baseball cap and ripped jeans with Converse sneakers sits down. "Too bad we're brothers and not a couple a gay dudes," he says. He then laughs in a Beavis and Butthead kind of way like "a couple a gay dudes" is some really sophisticated joke.

The gay dude serving them, also known as The Bitchy Waiter, hands them their menus.

"Do you guys want anything to drink yet?" I ask.

"Maybe a chocolate malted with two straws to share as you stare into each other's eyes," I think.

They order a couple of brewskies to make it abundantly clear that they are both straight and they quite enjoy the vagina. We all know that only straight men drink beer, right? Just like all gay men only eat quiche. The rest of their order consists of two steaks, well-done and no, they do not want any salad. Salad is not manly enough for these two men.

I get it. You're straight. The only reason you're sharing a two-top under the moonlight is because you both came from the same womb and that makes it alright. Heaven forbid that someone get the wrong impression and possibly think that the two of you are boyfriends who tickle each other's taints on Tuesday nights after watching the Modern Family that you have on DVR along with House Hunters, RuPaul's Drag Race and Project Runway. It's okay if two guys sit at a table under the twinkling stars. The stars don't give a shit about you and they shine just as bright for straight men as they do for gay men. You don't have to announce to your server that you're "not a couple of gay dudes" because your server (especially the one you have tonight) doesn't care either.

But hey, maybe they're not brothers after all. Maybe they are a couple of big ol' queens and that's just a ruse that it makes them feel comfortable being out together. You know how in that movie Lincoln, Tommy Lee Jones plays Thaddeus Stevens and he's in love Lydia Hamilton Smith but they act like she's just his black housekeeper so nobody will ask questions? Maybe the two guys are like that. Or you know how in that movie J. Edgar, Herbert Hoover goes on vacation and eats every meal with Clyde Tolson but they just call each other business associates so nobody will wonder if they are diddling each other? Maybe the two guys are like that. Maybe they just say they are brothers so no one will judge them when they play touch football in Central Park. I bet they have a two bedroom apartment where one bedroom is for show and the other bedroom is for all the magic. Whenever they have food delivered, they probably act like they are on the phone with their mom so that Miguel over at Dos Burritos doesn't think he's delivering food to a couple of maricons who are about to devour a couple of tamales before they devour a couple of tamales.

It all makes sense now. When I handed them their menus, I should have given them the secret gay handshake so they would know I was cool with them being homosexuals. I get it. "Too bad we're brothers and not a couple of gay dudes" obviously was a cry for help from deep within their shuttered closet filled with Wrangler jeans, baseball caps and flannel. If only I could have seen their truth sooner so I could have offered them the key that will open up the back corridor of that closet that leads to a room filled with feather boas, Andrew Christian underwear and a fully stocked scrap booking/gift wrapping station. Next time, boys, I will be there for you. Please come back to my station so I can make it right. I feel I have failed you. You're gay and it's okay.

Or maybe you're just a couple of asshole brothers who think "too bad we're not a couple of gay dudes" is a funny thing to say. If that's the case, fuck you and your well done steaks and beers.



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