Anniversary dinner

Anniversary dinner:

braised short ribs and

chardonnay.

Don’t come at me with the inappropriateness of that pairing, I say,

everything goes with White wine.

Foodie husband responds: Not so.

Gay men love White wine, I retort, It’s like a

homosexual elixor. I’m amused with myself.

I wonder, given his frustrated response to my (relentlessly)

jaunty banter, if the two

kindred spirits at the table might not, 21 years

later, be another inharmonious pairing, better

matched in an earlier time, when we didn’t quite care about such rules.

Now it seems so easy to overstep each other’s boundaries, when

offending one another seemed at one time unimaginable.

Perhaps it’s time for a break? I wonder,

questioning how we got to this point,

remembering earlier times when things like making

sure we chose the right wine didn’t matter, and just being together felt rebellious.

Times when two young gay men choosing love felt important.

Unblemished by the contempt we would learn to have for one another, we loved

vociferously, as couples do

when the contempt is aimed at them instead of between them. No

xerographic copy of our parents' relationships, our love felt vulnerable

yet invincible, and holding hands was heavier than it needed to be.

Zealous lovers grow tired, too, I think, and reach for the chardonnay.