The wrong sort of pussy

Apart from the fact that a few of my best friends are lesbians I’m really not that gay at all. Rapid mental arithmetic tells me that I spend most of my time working, taking photographs, watching 90210 and listening to music. I can’t remember the last time I did something gay – I even missed the last Wish club night because I had flu.

I know for a fact I spend more time with cameras than I do girls. Is that a problem? In fact I probably spend more time with Brandon Walsh than I do girls…

I do play a little bit of football, which is a little bit gay, but seeing as how the team is ninety per cent straight that must be statistically insignificant.

I was thinking about this earlier – mainly because Gaydar is failing me (and probably anyone else who is sane/fit yet stupid enough to use it) – in an attempt to work out how lesbians meet other lesbians for dating related activities in London. I think it’s really hard, even if you are a social butterfly with fluttering tendencies.

I’m yet to work out where best to hover. For a start, most gayers can’t see past the cloud of attitude that surrounds them. Those that can tend to present other faults pretty soon after opening their mouth.

It’s not a huge problem, as there are things I want more than dates. Another pair of Swear shoes, for example. It’s just I’m going to start getting a spinster’s reputation soon, if I’m not careful. And given both my Homies are entwined in relationship ivy I seem to have plenty of time to consider my own company.

All I need is a grey hair or two and before I know it I’ll have beaten my allergies and shipped in a couple of cats. Sadly, not the preferred choice of pussy.

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