It's All The Same, Just Different

A famed neurosurgeon recently needed his own surgical equipment to remove his foot from his mouth when he said some rather disparaging remarks, on national television, about gay marriage.  What surprised me most about this entire episode is how clueless the doctor seemed about what a hot button gay marriage is.  I love to bring up the subject, along with race relations, gun control, and/or  abortion when I am stuck in a dull dinner party. Talk about waking the dead! Just a word  of caution, though, from an experienced rabble-rouser. This is not a trick you want to do at a sit down dinner where there are steak knives involved. Just saying. 

 I have gay friends and straight friends, and, from what I have observed, all couples have the same issues. Her mother is a buttinski.  His sister thinks you are made of money.  One likes the mountains, one likes the beach, so they take turns yearly to decide where to vacation. One drives, one navigates, then they switch positions after a while. One is obsessive about checking the batteries in the smoke alarm and one doesn't even have a clue where the smoke alarm is. In other words, gay or straight, 90% of the time marriage is two people dealing with hum-drum boring crap.  

A friend of mine in Minnesota emailed  me last week, lamenting that, "there are days this whole single lesbian thing just doesn't work. Right now there is a furry, dead thing outside my front door and I don't know what to do. " 

I had no advice to give her, as when it comes to dead, furry things I am pretty useless, but I did assure her that committed heterosexual relationships have their challenges as well.  My two most serious relationships have been with a devout Christian and a devout Buddhist, and neither one would empty the trash. 

I am convinced that, gay or straight, every one of us has, at some point, awaken in the middle of the night, looked over at the lump sleeping next to us, and, in the words of Richard Gere, asked, "Who is this gerbil?" Then we probably rolled over and went back to sleep, knowing that the snoring lump in our beds is the one person who would be there to help us with dead, furry things outside the front door. 

And who knows? Maybe one day s/he will even learn to empty the trash.