DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

So a few weekends ago I stumbled inadvertently into a sort of modern-day coven, and as any brand-new experience might, it got me to thinking. What was really different about this gathering took me a few moments to notice. Being one of three men in a room of about 40 women is somewhat shocking at first, at least for me, at least the first time it happens. Part of why it was shocking is the realization that I’ve been through a third of my life and this had never happened before. Why not? Odd.

But as I looked past the fact that I was, as a gender, outnumbered 12 to 1, more subtle differences presented themselves. With few exceptions, I was the worst-dressed person in the room: I was surrounded by attractive jacket- and sweater- and vest-pantsuit combinations. My ratty jeans and overcoat marked me as a sartorial neophyte, if not simply a slob. And then I realized something perhaps even more telling: except for my wife, I had the longest hair in the room.

Soon it became clear that I had joined an event where about 95% of the attendees were lesbians. This was sort of a trip, but only for me, I’m sure.

The event was an open-mic night, but it was better run than any other similar event I’ve ever attended. The MC, who could double for Ellen Degeneres, ran a tight stage show. I was wholly impressed with the evening, although the openly lusty jokes and sexual references (between women) — not to mention the frequent kissing, onstage and off — managed to shock me, due to the persistence of my corn-fed Midwestern upbringing.

One performer in particular made me laugh. She is a musician and singer, and dedicated a song to “that someone special.” She was clearly heterosexual because she’d been clinging to a male companion prior to taking the stage. During the dedication, she purposefully made eye contact with just about everyone in the audience except her male friend, and although she carefully avoided using any gender-specific or otherwise identifying terms in the dedication, it was obvious to me whom she spoke of. But then, presumably because she feared her “special someone” might miss the reference, she added sotto voce, “he knows who he is.” Ha! Unless she was talking to me or the guy in the other room mixing lattes, there weren’t any other HEs in the building.