Morning revelations

The Boy With Unusual Facial Hair, otherwise known as the TBWUFH, made a rare appearance this morning on the subway platform.

Devoted readers may remember TBWUFH from the Great Bagel Debacle of 2007, the Fuckwit Festival in June and the Gigolo Revival in August.

Since I’ve been spending more time in Brooklyn at Fauxhawk’s place, I haven’t had the pleasure of a baffling/frustrating/amusing run-in with TBWUFH since this summer.

“Hey!” he said. “I haven’t seen you around in a while.”
“Yeah, I’ve been at my boyfriend’s place a lot these days.”
“You have a boyfriend?!”

It was less of a question than a statement of complete and utter astonishment. In my caffeine-deprived, slightly glazed state, his tone annoyed me.

“Yeah.”
“You do?”
“YES.”

Was I so unlovable that the idea of being attached to someone was completely preposterous?

“Oh – I just…” His voice trailed off.

Now I was curious.

“What is it?”

It took several back and forths to get it out of him.

“I thought that maybe you were a lesbian.”

Huh.

“Really?! Oh! That’s funny!”

The words were coming out in a strange, chirpy way, as if to say, “Oh, how amusing! Isn’t that fun?”

The truth is, I suspected as much. This explained why, out of the blue, I was aggressively recruited for the women’s rugby team in college, despite being incapable and averse to participating in most team sports. Though I politely declined the invitation, I later regretted the decision. The women's rugby team was a fertile breeding ground for experimental lesbianism in an environment where heterosexuality was a major inconvenience. During my first year in college, the lesbians were the cool girls. They were fun. They were hip. And they got A LOT of action. I, on the other hand, held on to my embryonic heterosexuality and didn't get a piece my entire freshman year - lesbian or otherwise. Not even experimental, fumble in the closet, make out on the dance floor action. While all of my friends were lezzing it up and having a grand old time, I was eating Domino’s pizza with banana peppers and getting fat. I missed my big chance, and I was stuck with...nothing.

A silence passed between us. Finally, I said, “So – just out of curiosity - why did you think that?”

“I don’t know…”

Not good enough.

“It’s my hair, isn’t it?” I insisted.
“Maybe that’s it. It’s kind of…”
“…Kentucky coal miner meets Joan Jett?” I added helpfully.
“Or something.”

So now I know. I have lesbian hair.

WHAT OF IT?