Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Living the un-gay lifestyle


I live the un-gay lifestyle.  I'm so un-gay that I am actually part of the picture-perfect Republican Christian family.  My un-gay husband and I are 30 and 26 respectively, with him working in IT and me staying home to raise our two un-gay children.  We have an un-gay boy and an un-gay girl, and I am pregnant with #3.  Yes, we even have the 2.5 children required to be the perfect, quintessential, heterosexual, Christian, American family. We're freaking perfect.

For those who are unfamiliar with the un-gay lifestyle, this is a typical day:
 7:00 a.m. I wake up, and just as I have done every morning since puberty, I choose to be a heterosexual today. This will come as a great relief to my husband who who woke up moments ago to prepare for work.  We know being gay, or in our case (for today, at least), un-gay, is a choice, so our relationship is a gamble day to day. Even though we have both chosen to remain heterosexual and to be together every day for the past 5 years (4 years of which were shared in a legal, binding, federally acknowledged marriage), we never take anything for granted. One of us just might throw in the towel one day and give up the hetero lifestyle.  After all, we have lots of gay friends, and that stuff spreads faster than inoculable diseases in Jenny McCarthy's house.
 7:30 a.m.  My un-gay children wake up and I remind them that they are not gay today, and they must continue to choose this option for the rest of their lives.  On a side note, I can't believe that gay couples are allowed to raise children, and give them the oposite speech every day.  Coaching your kids to choose to be gay is just despicable! 
 8:00 a.m. My un-gay children have un-gay breakfast.  I prepare for them a heterosexual bagel with cream cheese and milk that came from heterosexual cows.  I heard that the hormones that they treat cows (rBGH {real bovine gayness hormone}) with are a huge conspiracy to get gayness hormones into kids so they're easier to turn gay once they're in school and have gay teachers.  Obviously we get milk with no rGBH; it says so on the label. 8:15 a.m.  I dress my children heterosexually.  My daughter in pink dresses and my son in blue shirts and jeans, somewhat worn from his boisterous boyish playtime.  Wouldn't want them to get confused and develop gender dysphoria from letting them where colors that don't represent their choice of heterosexuality.
 8:30 a.m.  I drive my son to heterosexual preschool.  YMCA.  Young Men's Christian Association.  No gays there to influence my son to make the wrong choices.  
 9:00 a.m. I drive my daughter to heterosexual gymnastics.  It reminds her that she's a girl, to be in a girly sport.  She was in a class that had boys, but I changed her class so she wouldn't get confused and develop gender dysphoria from allowing boys into a predominately female sport.  I mean, the boys even wear TIGHTS in gymnastics.  Deplorable.
 6:00 p.m. My heterosexual husband returns from his male dominated job in Information Technology.  He makes sure to make overtly male gestures and express heterosexual sentiments, reminding me that I'm doing my job well as a woman, my female anatomy pleases him, and he appreciates my pregnant body outwardly expressing our heterosexuality.
 8:00 p.m. My un-gay children retire to their beds after saying prayers that we will all remain untouched by the gays tearing at the precious fabric of our heterosexual, Christian lives.
 11:00 p.m. My heterosexual husband and I retire to bed and remind each other how un-gay we chose to be that day. We pick up our scriptures with pictures of Ann Coulter decopaged on the cover, and surmise that every verse we read is a strict warning not to surround ourselves with anything but the most heterosexual of people and past times.  We skip over the verses that tell us to love everyone, or that God chose to give us all agency, or the verses that express disapproval with theocracy.  Those are less important than those that condemn lifestyles different from ours.  We read and strategize how we can best pray the gay out of those gays that must surely be encroaching on our city (though we don't know for sure since we don't associate with them).  We express pity for their wrong choices, and fall into a content, self-righteous sleep, dreaming of how nice it is to be a first class citizen.

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