Galoshes

Before I get into this post, I need to make a confession – why I feel this need will become apparent shortly. I own a pair of galoshes. I can’t remember when I last used them and they have been residing for many months now in the back seat of my car.

Last night was big – our first dinner with our friends since my wife explained I was bi. It was my first time seeing either of them and we approached it with some trepidation; I had been thinking of ice-breaker lines all week – how to acknowledge the elephant without having it take over the room.

So they arrive and switch to our car to head to the restaurant. The husband – D – gets into the back seat looks down and with amazement says – “Galoshes”. Without thinking I say “yes – rubbers are always important.”

We ended up having our usual dinner banter – a good night with an almost unsaid acknowledgement of things and a chance for KA and I not to fixate, as we have constantly done for the past month.

Getting in the car to leave, D again noted the galoshes and I without thinking confessed that the galoshes are more embarrassing than the other issues in my life at the moment; scarily enough I almost meant it.

Act II:
Lacking a babysitter and not wanting to cancel this dinner our kids went to a friend’s house. We have not, and will not, share our story with this couple – she would understand but would end up telling someone and he will not see Brokeback Mountain – ‘nough said.

I get there close to 10 PM and go to round up the kids who are playing in a bedroom which I thought was the master. She tells me her husband is sleeping already and when I look around the room she realizes my confusion and then with a smile goes off on a stream of consciousness: “He is sleeping under the bed - no he’s sleeping in the closet - no he’s out of the closet – he’s getting in touch with himself.”

I looked at her and noted we are all getting in touch with ourselves. It just seemed the perfect end to the evening.