A Bad Gay

I am a bad gay, like Lindsay Lohan playing Elizabeth Taylor bad, we thought there were weapons of mass destruction bad, Skating with the Stars bad (anyone remember that brief horrible spin-off of Dancing with the Stars?). Anyway, if my gayness were graded I would be slapped with an EPIC FAIL on my forehead. Despite this, I still managed to fall in love and land "the boy" as I affectionately call him, who generally disregards my lack of skill in stereotypically gay areas. Of course, now that we live together my bad gayness shines brightly in the area of housekeeping. It's not that I am that bad, it's just that I have a general aversion to dish washing, sweeping/vacuuming, laundry, bathroom cleaning, dusting, removing leftovers from the refrigerator, food shopping, bed making, and most of all - dealing with that pesky duvet cover! Thank goodness I am not a "kept man" and earn my keep as his equal. Although, my life's dream would be to be a "houseboy," running around the house in purple boy shorts on rollerblades - tending to all the household needs and never needing a job. I could be a regular on BRAVO's new show, The Real Househusbands of NYC. Of course, it's my inability to be a good housekeeper that gets in the way of that. Oh, I also have been told that I have a big mouth and you can't be "kept" and be mouthy at the same time. One must learn to pipe down and be easy when desiring to be "kept," and I am afraid I have not learned that lesson yet. But with only 30 days left in 2012, I aspire to no longer be a bad gay, at least in terms of housekeeping (my sense of style is another issue, I'm most comfortable in what I like to call NYC Black). So, to that end, "the boy" gave me a duvet cover lesson. Does that sound dirty? I learned all about stuffing the duvet cover. Dirty again, no? Corners and strings, and who knew about the strings! All this time, never knew about the strings! Maybe there is some hope for me after all - it's all about the strings. Before we moved in together, "The Boy" had a maid, because  you know he's practically a Rockefeller and was just oh so busy and important. Not being able to resist being a smart ass, I ribbed him relentlessly over that and was mortally wounded when he had the nerve to ask her to do things like - the dishes. "SHE'S NOT A SLAVE!" "SHE'S A MAID!!!" - he'd yell back at me. We don't have a maid in our shared place. I'm totally into cutting off my nose to spite my face! . Of course, I could really try harder, get off my lazy duff - clean - and be waiting for the "The Boy" in as minimal amount of clothes as possible. One must start somewhere to start the campaign of being a "kept man."