Wednesday, December 22, 2004
My husband and I were watching Ed Wood on HBO the other night. In case you haven't seen the film, it's the story of a spectacularly unsuccessful cross-dressing 50's B-movie director, and his touching relationship with the smack-addicted and washed up Bela Lugosi. It's an okay film - Tim Burton, you know - but really nothing to write home about. We'd seen it before, so I wasn't so much watching as using the background noise as a distraction from the mundane task of folding laundry.
"God, what a bitch," intoned my sensitive new-age spouse. We'd just hit the scene where Ed reveals his angora fetish to his long-time girlfriend and she rejects him. "You'd think if she loved him, she could put up with a little weirdness," he said.
I glanced at the TV - Sarah Jessica Parker having a horsefaced meltdown over her boyfriend's secret tranny leanings - then turned to face my husband. "Putting up with 'weirdness' is one thing," I said. "Expecting a lady to be able to work up a good wet for a hairy-chested bugger who's wearing her panties is another thing entirely."
My husband gave me that disapproving look, that "my, aren't we intolerant today," glare.
I take crap from his loving, giving, kum-ba-yah ass over shit like this all the time and I was having none of it at the moment. I replied, in a cutting tone, "Well, have you ever tried to bone a dude who was wearing your unmentionables? No - never mind, I don't want to know. It would be a total dealbreaker if you had, and I have no desire to be a single mother. Suffice it to say that I have tried it, and it ain't just a matter of acceptance. It's a visceral thing, man."
Of course, this led to the story, which my husband swore he'd never heard before. . . .
This gets interesting. Read on.