I Am Reminded That I’m Gay When…

I have a 24-pak of candelabra-base, flame-tip light bulbs in the garage, and I can offer almost any other sized bulb in two different color temperatures.

The man I love stands in front of the open fridge and says, “Are we really out of Brie?” with a presidential assassination-level of astonishment.

I can explain the cinematic significance of Joan Crawford to someone who has never seen Mommy Dearest, with visual aids, (not exactly given pride of place, but still) readily available in the living room.

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