Exactly. My father never quite got the sense of homosexuality, but that was a generational thing; he wasn't threatened by it nor did he harbor ill feelings towards anyone. My husband is, I think, 100% oblivious to anything like that, no more an issue than the color of someone's hair. You see it and you know what it is, but it's not a detail that makes any kind of difference. I know a great many men who appear to have no issue with homosexuality.I also think, btw, that there are jerks among us everywhere, gay and straight, of course, and there are nasty S.O.B.s with power issues who happen to be gay as well. They're just men (or women) who don't particularly have a problem needing to have power over other men (or women). It's complicated, the power thing, not easily summed up in a neat little diary entry. Same gender, different gender, trans-gender. Whenver you've got more than one person involved, there's always some kind of power thing.
Where on earth could I have put those Christmas ornaments? Really, I do remember being pissed off last year that I was taking apart the tree and putting them away all by myself -- again -- and I vaguely sort of recall putting them someplace different. They have to be here because we never throw anything out, so they couldn't have slipped out with the non-existent trash. I have gone through parts of the basement, and except for finding every shoe and stuffed animal my children have ever owned, no dice. And every VHS tape. And every power supply for every computer we've ever had. And a life-size cut-out of Austin Powers, which I believe says "Oh, behave!" when you press some button. And the dress I wore as a bridesmaid to my sister's first wedding, in 1970.
And two treadmills.
And baby dishes.
And five or six thermoses.
And pillows that match a couch we don't have anymore.
And some clothes of my mother's.
And my scrapbooking supplies.
And two or three sets of stereo speakers, although we don't have a stereo anymore.
And five or six sets of Trivial Pursuit cards.
And baseball almanacs for every year in the 80s.
And ...
And ...
And ... oh, you get the picture.
