Valentine's Day is a Drag

But you know, this messy old time of year is all about the dating and the romance and all that crap, and I haven’t dated in ages. Mostly, I avoid dating. This is primarily because I’m neurotic about my big butt (which is a little ironic as you will find out later in this story) so I’m always doing things like working and trying to figure out how to reason with a dachshund that lives in my house in order to keep from doing all the things that are necessary for the dating (like the making eye contact and the leaving the house to go to places other than Target and PetSmart.)

But this has not always been the case. Way, way back in the day, I had a perfectly good Valentine. What had initially attracted me to him was his enormous, regal afro. Seriously, wow. I am not kidding when I tell you that my Valentine had the perfect afro, and I would stare at it in wonder for hours on end. Generally, I felt like a lucky man. But things went awry when, on Valentine’s Day of 1997 he showed up at my house with a bright blue stolen candle that was covered in hand-painted stars and shaped either like a mushroom or a very unfortunate penis. His other hand cradled a bottle of Night Train.

Here’s some back story. Five short years earlier, I graduated from Round Rock High School where I had been both student body president and homecoming king, a sheltered sort of upbringing that may have left me somewhat unprepared for the unique and complex world of interracial gay dating in a red state. So when my Valentine showed up, I didn’t realize how kitschy and fun a bottle of Night Train could be. And I actually found myself morally opposed to the fact that the candle had been stolen. But my heart sank when I looked at his face because there was no longer a big, magnificent afro but a bunch of anticlimactic corn rows. The night had become a huge messy mannish drag queen with stolen gifts and cheap liquor and shallow cosmetic changes and I was way too green to appreciate any of the genius involved in the whole unlikely scene.

Within days we were no longer a couple. This was mostly because of the Valentine’s Day thingy, but it was also because I felt conflicted and dumbfounded when he told me that he found Kenny Rogers to be wicked sexy, which would in fact be a fantastically encouraging sign for me these days. But mostly, we were no longer a couple because I was too dumb to appreciate that real love is probably not well-coiffed and perfectly wigged. Instead, I’m thinking it is probably something much more improvised and comforting like a poorly-planned drag persona. Crooked fake titties and all.

Happy Valentine’s Day, and if you’re lucky enough to get a bottle of Night Train from a corn-rowed Romeo this year, don’t over-think it or get all judgmental, just drink up.