My Funny Bone. . .

My friend is currently living the life of a Noel Coward farce. It's being written as I sit and watch. He pointed out that in my main group of friends, we all possess different traits of farcical characters. It doesn't surprise me, we're all theatrical people. We possess those traits that make people question the stereotypes. I'm a fag, but I'm a fag with style.

A not so close friend called me cause he is having an HIV scare. I canceled the play I need to see for class so I can comfort this boy. Who I really don't know that well. I just can't deny him comfort when he's having that kind of scare. I may be a fag, but I'm a fag with humanity.

Tomorrow, my mother and Oma are visiting me. This is historical, I've been here five years and my Jehovah's Witness grandmother hasn't come down once. It'll be three generations of Tennessee William's character sitting around and ignoring reality! My Oma asked my mother if I was gay. My dad thinks she is coming down to confront me. Interesting, no?

Then there's my mother. The matriarch herself. She who rules with a silent but emotional claw. I love her, but fear her awesome strength. She who taught me that it's the little things that can worry you so. Never shall I sleep soundly again.

Then there is moi and we already know so much about me. I shall sit there and order something with a kick to it! I'll flash a smile and wait for her to accuse me of being a sissy! I'll remain civil no matter what happens.

Oh, these days! These days! I am well, for there's nothing to worry about. That's the hitch in this design. I get a free dinner tomorrow.