The Comfy Corner

It's been happening my whole life... all the way back to when I was 7 or 8 and had to be dragged away from watching "The Golden Girls" long enough to go to basketball practice (against my will). I played for an entire season and managed to never touch the ball during a game. This kind of behavior carried on into middle school when I would be practicing my cartwheels and learning new hand clapping games with the girls on the side of the field instead of playing soccer with the other boys and the lesbians. And into high school when I managed to go to every high school football game for five years (because I was in the marching band) and I still don't really understand how the game works.

It all comes down to one simple concept...I DON'T LIKE SPORTS! Sure, I mean, I'll play a game of frisbee in the park as long as I'm not wearing my suede Pumas. And I'm always down for some whiffle ball as long as I can pretend I'm a cheerleader when I'm in the outfield. But other than that, I'm just not into it. I've tried (very feebly) and it's all a big yawn. This realization came to me a couple weeks ago when I was headed to dance class. The studio I dance at is right beside the TD Banknorth Garden (Where the Celtics play). There I was, fighting against crowds of rabid basketball fans trying to get to my Jazz II class (with Michelle Chasse). I was a tiny fish swimming against the current and for the first time in my life I felt...too gay to function.

Now, I told this story to my co-worker and she was retelling the story to another coworker (an elaborate game of telephone) but she added in one little detail (this is how rumors get out of hand, folks). She said that I was "decked out in my dance gear." I was shocked! She blatantly assumed that I was pushing through the crowds wearing my tights and my leotard with my ballet slippers tossed casually over my shoulders. Evidence to the contrary, Kendal! I was wearing cut off shorts, a white v-neck and my Pumas, (the red, suede ones...no frisbee for me!) I don't even own a leotard, and my tights are firmly tucked away in my dance drawer. So there!

Another time when I felt too gay to function was on the night of gay Superbowl Sunday (also known as the Tony Awards). This is an annual event for me that I refuse to miss. No matter what else is going on...this night is on my conflict sheet. Unfortunately, this was the same night as another Celtics game. My roommate (Grace...a girl) had to go to a bar to watch the game because I was hogging the television being... well... gay (i.e. getting all worked up over Catherine Zeta Jones winning a Tony she didn't deserve. Totally over it now, though. Clearly.). So moral of the story? Never ask me what sports I play. Never ask me if I watched the game. Never ask me who's playing tonight. And never ask me what the score is. I'm not watching the game. I'll never be watching the game. I'm too busy dancing.