I know a woman. Let’s call her Jill. She thought her husband was gay from the first day she met him. Lots of people told her he was gay from the first day they met him. But Jill didn’t care. He was handsome, smart, and sexy. She pushed the thought of him possibly batting for the other team far, far away. So far away that they dated, moved in together, got married, bought a house, had kids, and then got a divorce.
Okay, so Jill confided in me the thought her husband was gay wasn’t so far away during their mostly happy marriage. Not that far away when he took her to a club where she was the only woman in the frozen drink serving, hot pink feather boa wearing, disco ball having, techno-blasting club. Most of the men there were shirtless, glistening, and kept telling her how fabulous she was. Granted, she loved the attention but why would her husband want to come here for their date night out? What happened to a nice evening at a jazz club?
The thought tried to surface, Was her husband gay? She pushed it away. Not so far this time. When a man text messaged her husband at three in the morning and asked him to “cum over,” the thought wasn’t far away at all. In fact the thought is my husband gay? kept getting closer and closer like a children’s game of green light, red light, when finally the winner tags the kid calling out the commands.
No winner this time though. Not Jill. Not her “in the closet” husband who took longer than her to get ready. Not their three kids who loved their daddy and thought he was the best guy in the world. Which he was. Just not for a Jill … more for another Jack.
My advice to Jill: next time you find a Jack to go up the hill with, make sure you don’t both want to fetch the same pail of water. Oh, and after Jack falls down and breaks his crown, and Jill goes tumbling after … girl get up, brush yourself off, and find you a Jack that wants to see you donning the hot pink feather boa—not him!