My gay friend is a very angry gay friend.

Violet!!!

He yelled at me over the phone.

I’ve been your friend for twenty years. Twenty fucking years. And you’ve never written about me, ever. Now, I introduce you to X and you write an entire blog about him. Same day. He gets immediate celebrity status and I get one teeny ridicululous mention as ‘The Gay Friend.’  

I giggled.   Calm down. At least I didn’t call you the fat gay friend. Or the fat grey gay friend. Or the old fat grey bad tempered friend. Or…

I was having fun. This was good for my story telling.

You are such a bitch, Violet. All I want is a bit of recognition. But no, nothing. X gets it, your disastrous lovers get it, even your ex bloody husband gets it. And me? Nothing. I’ve been steady in your life, always there for you, sometimes I even read your blogs, and – nothing, nothing.

It wasn’t helping that I kept giggling and interrupting him with things like Yeah but what do you think, should I botox, and hey I bought such a pretty dress today, also, you know I’m trying to do my stomach exercises, hold on while I switch ears.…

He was on a tirade. I let him go on. And on. And on.

He called me a few names. Names I’d never heard before.

Poeslappie.

Ew, I said.

Ew, he said back. Anyway, fuck you. I’m pissed off.

I got off my yoga mat, checked my abs, not bad, not bad at all. I was ready for a meal.

Ya know, I’m starving. Drinking only fruit juice and not having online sex has me ravenous. Wanna go out for lunch?

Sure.  He suggested the lovely cafe down the road.

Groovy, I said.  Bring X with you.

Okay.

See! The beauty of friendship.  Fat gay male angry friendship.

It’s perfect.