Honey, I'm Not Your LGBTQIA+ Fairy Godmother (And My Wand Doesn't Do THAT Kind of Magic)
Alright, gather 'round, my fabulous flock of unicorns and glitterati! Let's have a little chat, shall we? A real talk. A "put on your big girl/boy/enby pants and listen up" kind of pow-wow. Because, darlings, I've noticed a thing. A trend. A… well, let's just call it a "situation" that requires a hefty dose of sass, a sprinkle of wisdom, and a whole lotta "bless your heart."
As someone who’s been waving the bi flag since before some of you were even a twinkle in your parents' eyes (and trust me, that’s saying something – I've seen some serious fashion disasters come and go), I’ve become somewhat of a… well, let's just say a magnet for a certain demographic. And by “magnet,” I don’t mean the kind that attracts cute fridge magnets or those adorable little metal paperclips. I mean the kind that attracts men in their late thirties and early forties who are experiencing what I like to affectionately call their “Late Bloomers’ Ball.”
Now, before you get your perfectly manicured eyebrows in a twist, let me clarify: I am thrilled for these gentlemen. Absolutely tickled pink (and purple, and blue – you know, the whole bi rainbow). They’re finally breaking free from the shackles of religious upbringings (Mormonism, Catholicism, various flavors of Christianity – you name it, I’ve seen it), and exploring their authentic selves. It’s beautiful! It’s inspiring! It’s… well, it’s also frequently happening in my DMs. And honey, that’s where we have a problem.
See, these newly-out-and-proud fellas often come with a few… shall we say… unique characteristics. And while I applaud their courage and self-discovery, I’m here to declare, loudly and clearly, for the people in the back: I. AM. NOT. YOUR. TYPE.
Let’s break it down, shall we? Because a little clarity never hurt nobody (except maybe those who refuse to listen, but that’s their problem, not mine).
Exhibit A: The Virgin Voyage (And I’m Not Talking About Richard Branson’s Space Adventures)
Look, I get it. Everyone has to start somewhere. But darling, I’m not running a sexual kindergarten. I’m not here to hold your hand through your first anything. First kiss? First date? First… everything? Honey, I’ve been there, done that, bought the t-shirt, and then donated it to charity because, let’s be real, it was probably a little too “ironic” for my current wardrobe. I’m not looking to be anyone’s “first.” I’m looking for someone who knows what they like, what they don’t like, and can articulate it without blushing profusely and staring at their shoes.
Exhibit B: The Oral Obsession (And No, I’m Not Talking About Dental Hygiene)
It seems that for many of these newly-minted members of the LGBTQIA+ community, the exploration of their sexuality begins and ends with… well, let’s just say a very specific area of the male anatomy. And while I appreciate the enthusiasm (and the presumably excellent breath control), there’s a whole world of sexual experiences out there, people! It’s like discovering ice cream and then deciding that you’re only ever going to eat vanilla. There are so many flavors! So many textures! So many… well, you get the idea. I’m looking for someone with a more… adventurous palate. Someone who’s willing to try the rocky road, the mint chocolate chip, maybe even a little rum raisin if they’re feeling particularly daring.
Exhibit C: The Family Man (And I’m Not Looking to Join the Brady Bunch)
Now, this one is a bit more nuanced. I have the utmost respect for families. I think it’s wonderful that these men have children and have built lives. But darling, I’m not looking to become a step-anything. I’m not looking to navigate complex custody arrangements, attend PTA meetings, or referee sibling squabbles. I’m looking for a partner, not a family project. My life is already full of drama (mostly the fabulous, glitter-filled kind), and I don’t need to add “navigating the emotional landscape of pre-teens” to the mix.
So, to all the lovely men in their late thirties and early forties who are just now embarking on their journey of self-discovery: I sincerely wish you all the best. I’m sending you virtual high-fives, rainbow confetti, and all the good vibes. I’m genuinely happy for you. But please, for the love of all that is holy (or not, if that’s your thing), do not slide into my DMs. We are simply not a match. I’m a seasoned traveler on the queer highway, and you’re just now getting your learner’s permit. And honey, I’m not about to let you take me on your first driving lesson.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a bottle of champagne, a fabulous pair of heels, and a playlist that’s guaranteed to make you want to dance. Because, darling, life is too short to settle for vanilla.
