At Starbucks this afternoon, I watched as two women walked in together. One was in a dark teal sun dress" the color of late 80s leatherette couches and 1991 Chevrolet Corsicas; the other wore a mechanic's-style uniform and a manly walk. Obviously, I assume they are a couple.
They take their 800-calorie cups of frozen goo outside so we can all watch them sweat. They talk and laugh. A noticeably gay man comes up. All three talk and laugh, and then he goes back to his Prius. As they slurp the end of their drinks, Mechanic Lesbian puts her hand Teal Lesbian's hand, and just when I'm expecting a sloppy lesbian cheek peck, they proceed to close their eyes and pray together. For ten minutes.
It is then that I remember I'm in East Texas. They aren't a "couple." They're "best friends" who (with Prius Man) probably belong to the same Christian singles group which, like employment at Starbucks, is just a closet that your friends can fit in, too.
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