Date with a homophobe

I’m a sucker for guys who can dance. So when one of my favorite guys to dance with, at one of my favorite places to dance at, asked me for drinks, the only thing to do is say yes and conduct the necessary background check.

Since we were already facebook friends, the second part was easy. I found photo after photo of the dozen weddings he was just in, where he worked, some of his favorite musicians, and WHOA!!! That he’s a fan of “People for the Traditional Definition of Marriage.” Well. This was going to be interesting.

I suppose etiquette, had I any, would have directed me to talk about neutral topics first, say, dancing, the weather, and how small animals are, in general, cute. But after working up no inconsiderate amount of disgust that I had to waste my time on a date with a homophobe, combined with the fact that he was obviously calculating the drink/conversation ratio that would be the quickest route to sex, led me to asking his views on gay marriage only two questions into the date.

The basic inane arguments followed, until he summed up with:

“I mean really, when you think about it, how does a stick and a stick or a hole and a hole go together? They just don’t!”

While I wish I would have, on the spot, come up with the response, “Let me draw you a diagram,” what I did say was, “I’m bi. Trust me. It works.”

Let me pause here to say that double-takes are currently completely underrepresented for their humor and ability to gratify.

Then came his response that I should have been prepared for. “Well, I have more of a problem with men who date men then I do with women who date women.”

“Your college frat called. They want their cliché double-standard back.” Okay, I didn’t say that. That was the most excellent retort that a friend of mine said the next day while I was filling her in on the gruesome details. But for the sake of prosperity, can we pretend I said that?

Now, I thought a protracted argument about how I wasn’t really thrilled at the idea of him wanting to take my rights away because he got called a fag as a kid would make it clear that I was not interested in him as long as he held the belief that I shouldn’t be able to marry whoever the hell I want to. Apparently not.

“Well, I won’t really have an issue with it if you date me, because you’ll be dating a guy.”

Oh LORD. How do I put this? Here’s a stick. Now let me draw you a diagram…