Thread: So apparently wearing a pink shirt makes me gay.

So apparently wearing a pink shirt makes me gay.

When I wear a normal blue, black, green, white shirt I’m still the heterosexual, women loving Donovan you’ve all come to know and love (Not that way fag). But when I slip into the color pink, people’s gay-dar goes into code pink and instantly I’m transformed into an ass loving, fondue eating, Will and Grace loving flamer (when in reality I only love the show for the comedy). Or so everyone I’ve run into today would lead you to believe.

When I rolled out of bed this morning I was dead tired, too many evenings of less than 6 hours sleep has turned me into Don of the Dead. I pulled on my jeans; slipped on some socks and dug through the laundry basket of clean clothes I call a dresser, looking for a shirt. It was a toss up between my “If you’re a Socialist go fuck yourself” shirt, and my pink American Eagle ringer. Not wanting to give the wrong impression to co workers that I hated socialist, I tossed on the pink shirt and went to work. Big mistake.

People started eyeing me funny on the drive to work. I pulled up at a red light next to a burly fella in a pickup who looked over and saw me, a young man, wearing a pink shirt and driving a dark purple civic hatchback and smiled a gap toothed smile before winking at me.

Uh. A little odd.

But I thought nothing of it and continued to work.

Walking in the door to the retail store I work plain clothes security at, I passed two tall, athletic men wearing expensive designer clothing and sharing an Orange Julius from two straws. They both looked me up and down before one exclaimed to me “Why, doesn’t this boy just look gay today. Eh Pedro?”

“Why thank you, I am quite happy, it’s a lovely day gentleman.”

They giggled and left.

I dropped off my briefcase and gear and headed out onto the floor to catch shoplifters. Just 10 minutes into my shift I see a couple teenage girls selecting cosmetics and walking down the feminine hygiene aisle, so I step into the aisle and pretend to browse while watching them out of the corner of my eye. Normally I select some random product from the shelf to blend in.

While not realizing it, I was standing in front of the condom section, and had picked up a bottle of lube, pretending to read the bottle while watching my suspects. During this a very large black man wearing short shorts much to short for his, er… figure, walked by and looked at me. Then at the lube. Then at the shirt. He made a V shape out of his index and forefinger and put them to his mouth, sticking his tongue out at me and grabbed his crotch and tugged. He walked away laughing.

I furrowed my brow in a disconcerting way and began following the man, he was black after all. And acting suspiciously. Sure enough, moments later the fellow pulls a pair of socks out of the clearance bin and shoves them down the front of his shorts. He exits and I come out and arrest him.

“Excuse me, Loss Prevention, you have to come with me.”

“Huh. I didn’t steal nuttin.”

“The socks," I said. Motioning towards his crotch. "Lets go”

“The socks? Nah, dats all natural man.”

Back in the office he admitted to the theft and was well behaved while I wrote my report and called the police.

“So, are ya sure ya cant jus let me off with a warnin this time? Please? I won’t do it again.”

“I’m sorry sir, but I have to do…”

“Awww come on boy, maybe there’s something I can do fer you….”

At this point he winked at me, licked the palm of his right hand and slide it down the front of his pants. With a big smile on his face.

“Uh…no sir, please don’t do that,” I said and continued typing the report. I was starting to get the impression he might be a homosexual.

"Oh you're a big muscly man! Yes you are! Look at that ass!"

“....Well thank you. I do work out.”

I tried not to look at him and kept typing. He seemed a little gay, he complimented my muscles and found my ass attractive. Nah, I'll give him the shadow of a doubt. Maybe he's just one of those guys that notices other guys' butts. But what he'd say next would definitely cement down that he was in fact gay.

“I’m gay! Now do me you big gay sexy security guard!”

My eyes were the size of saucers and I pushed back from my desk and stared at him.

“Excuse me?? I am NOT gay. I love women!”

He smiled at me, “Of course you’re gay. Tall, good shape, the pink shirt and looking at lube? I know a gay when I see one. Now come here!”

--

After a brief scuffle that he seemed to enjoy a little to much, he was handcuffed and back on the bench. The police arrived and took him away. On the way out one of the cops made a comment about “those fucking Liberals in Ottawa” and the sanctity of marriage between a man and a woman.
What’s next, a man allowed to marry a dog or cat?

At this point I went to the bathroom and washed up and looked at myself in the mirror. I was quite shaken up and wearing that pink shirt made me feel so seedy. I had to change.

On my coffee break I decided I would go upstairs to The Gap and grab a new shirt for the rest of my shift. I headed for the escalator and at the bottom nearly ran into two very attractive young ladies doing some Wednesday afternoon shopping. We made eye contact. I smiled at them, feeling very heterosexual, and winked at the taller, cuter one. I stepped onto the escalator and they stepped on behind me. I was debating on turning around and saying hello when I hear the girls whispering and snickering behind me. No, that was a full laugh.

“…cute…….but…..pink shirt…..likes da cock”

I was about to turn around and prove my love of women by commenting on how much I would love a breast in my mouth right about now, when I had a bubble in my gut and an evil thought. Fart. Fart like I’ve never farted before. Let them smell and inhale the fruits of my lower intestine, but it must be silent! I fixed myself in the ballet position (heels touching, toes pointed outward, knees slightly bent) and I puuuuuuushed. My face quickly changed from one of hard labor to one of great pleasure as the methane gas slowly and ever so silently escaped from my anus. The laughter and snickering from Barbie and her sister Jane was quickly turned into gasping and silence. Victory is mine! I had to fight myself not to turn and watch my victory, a great warrior doesn't have to see a bloody battlefield to know he's won. As I approached the mirror on the ceiling, I had to look at their facial expression, it was one of horror and disgust.

Like a vulture sensing death I went in for the kill. I contorted my midsection like a belly dancer to find another pocket of pure methane evil and I unleashed it. The pocket was so deep that it couldn't be silenced, it sounded like a Harley Davidson coming toward you. I couldn't help but let out a sinister chuckle.

The 30 second ride from hell was over. They've inhaled my farts and technically tasted them. I arrived on the second floor and was greeted by a well dressed businessman who smiled and winked at me. I laughed and winked back before stepping aside as the two young ladies escaped from behind me. Again we made eye contact, only this time I was the one laughing.

I decided to save my money and forget the new shirt and came back downstairs to work. I got 4 numbers on the walk back to the store too, and as I write this I’m debating on whether to call Paul or Silas.

Heh, I'd be a liar if I said I wouldn't draw the same conclusions, especially because I'm gay. Well written and thorougly enjoyable. You really made my day.

Oh, and by the way, that picture is adorable.

"So apparently wearing a pink shirt makes me gay."

not if worn with a yellow power tie and pinstriped, double-breasted armani!

however, if tailored to cling to every dent in your 6-pak and
accompanied by a lavender ascot and perfectly-pleated trews,
leading to un-socked tasseled loafers, one might be forgiven for wondering...

“....Well thank you. I do work out.”

This I found hilarious.

This story was quite funny. Makes me want to buy a pink shirt and hit the mall for some fun.

Haha, just read it again upon coming home from work, and one more comment to make: had I been in the mall at the same time, you'd probably have five phone numbers not four, hehe.

Once again, it was wonderful. Thank you for sharing this with us,

I loved that piece. It was both intensely amusing and engagingly written, as well as being disturbingly accurate.

That was great. Your non-fiction stories are really good, and funny.

What a fun story. I like the other shirt you were debating putting on... the one about socialists... especially cause I'm kind of a socialist. Excellent story.

I couldn't help laughing my ass off at that. How much was true? It seemed a little far fetched in parts. Reminds me of the day I put on too much hair gel.

Thank you so much for cheering me up and putting a smile on my face for the first time in a week.

Excellent. Thats all I have to say. Once again, your work has amazed me.

I remember reading this a few months ago, but didn't comment. This time through, I noticed one thing right at the beginning that confused me for a second.

When I wear a normal blue, black, green, white shirt I’m still the heterosexual, women loving Donovan you’ve all come to know and love (Not that way fag).

The word should be "women-loving" instead of being seperated. Without a hyphen it sorta' makes it seem like you're saying you're a hetersexual women who is loving Donovan.
That aside, I loved this piece. Great work.

Donovan,

I often read these forumns but don't post. Simply because the nonfiction forum is slow and sucks. There are not enough critics and too many bad writers applauding beige writing.

I will give you kudos. Your style had bite. The problem with a lot of the writers of nonfiction is the tone. I've struggled with that same problem before I was published. Everyone wants to write in the safe zone, the beige voice. You know, those long sentences that are grammatically correct. Words like "Yep", "Right on!" and "As if!"... are seldom seen. Writing in your true voice is what makes manuscripts standout in a slush pile. Now, there are some nonfiction books that call for a serious tone. But if your going to write relationships, parenting or simply about gay life....it better have a bit of fun to it or in the trash it goes. Acquiring your true writing voice takes practice. It's a dash of sarcasm, cynical, serious and informative rolled up into one....with lyrical phrases that cause giggle and imagery.

Your developing a good voice....keep it up.

Mostly, I loved this. I'm new here and, therefore, not sure how detailed a critique you want, but if you plan to send this out, I think you still need to do some work on it! Mostly, these are small, fine-tuning types of things, but here are some examples: "But when I slip into the color pink, people’s gay-dar goes into code pink and instantly I’m transformed..." Can you find another way of describing the gay-dar since you're already using a lot of pink? Something like carnation code?

Another example:

"People started eyeing me funny on the drive to work. I pulled up at a red light next to a burly fella in a pickup who looked over and saw me, a young man, wearing a pink shirt and driving a dark purple civic hatchback and smiled a gap toothed smile before winking at me."--Get rid of that first sentence! You show us this much better with the burly fella in the pickup--telling us people are eyeing you funny is overkill. These small things are sprinkled throughout. One thing you might consider is to go through and find all the places you use forms of the verb to be--is, was, have, had, etc. and see if you can replace them with more vivid, interesting verbs. I appreciate your raunchy and non-politically correct humor in here! Some good writing. I hope this feedback is appropriate.