"What is straight? A line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh, no, it's curved like a road through mountains..." Tennessee Williams

Last night I went out on a date with my very best moody homo boyfriend, David. His husband, also named David, hates theatre (go figure) and the Guy in the Boxers subscribes to the "why should I pay to go to the theatre when I can nap at home for free?" club, so David and I are regular mutual beards.

So last night we ventured out for a night of Tennessee Williams. I am chronically tardy and David is always annoyingly early. So as usual, I was in the bathroom wrestling with my contact lenses when the Guy in the Boxers bellowed: "Your date's here!" and when I finally appeared in the living room, he asked if I had stock-piled enough prescription drugs and alcohol to effect a good post-show overdose since that is how he feels every time he sees anything by Tennessee Williams. I could tell that both of my boys were relieved by my emergence from the powder room since they always run out of things to talk about when it's just the two of them.

The Guy in the Boxers warned David not to keep me out all night, per usual. David laughed nervously then chirped "Don't worry, I brought condoms!" over his shoulder as he and I departed. The Guy in the Boxers laughed so hard I could hear him all the way down the driveway.

The play was okay, but the woman playing the lead has recently lost a shitload of weight and so unfortunately she now has substantial wings under her ams. David was fascinated by the wings to the point that he could not concentrate on anything else, despite my elbowing him. I know this because he kept whispering: "I am so awful for saying this, but, oh my lord, my god, her arms look like pitiful deflated hot air balloons." And unfortunately, she did a lot of dramatic arm gesturing throughout. David moaned every time she gestured.

After the show we stopped at the neighborhood pub for "a nightcap" as David likes to call them and three Diet-Coke & Southern Comforts later, I was wobbling back in the front door jonesing for rice pudding or a pop-tart, as e and maxine can attest.

But the best part of the whole evening was story-time. David spent the last hour of "nightcaps" regaling me with stories of his career as a cheerleader at a huge southern college during the 1950s. Football players were naughty in the '50s too and they did not always like just the girls. Oh my, the stories that boy tells!