By Sara Scanes
When I finally decided I was coming to Kent State, the first thing I did was join the university’s network on Facebook.
The second thing I did was find myself a gay boyfriend on campus.
With the decision to come to college came the unfortunate truth: I would be leaving Tony, my gay boyfriend, behind (or, rather, in Cincinnati, since that’s where Tony was headed for school).
For those uneducated in the matter of gay boyfriends, a gay boyfriend is any sexy, savvy straight girl’s secret weapon. For the gay boyfriend is not only your best friend and the go-to gay for any sort of hair, make up or fashion emergency, but he’s also the best damn date when you’re without a straight boy to doll up and parade around with.
A gay boyfriend’s services include — but are not limited to — first-date planning, gossip and man-bashing, late-night calorie binges during “Sex and the City” rerun marathons on TBS and accompanying his hag to dances, formal events, office parties and couple’s holidays.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to properly function without a gay boyfriend, so it was absolutely crucial that I find myself one closer to my new home.
I logged onto Facebook and searched “interested in men” in the Kent State network.
The first boy that came up in the search looked young, but cute, and he liked the same shows and bands I did. Clicking “Add to friends,” I gave up my search. After all, you can’t have two gay boyfriends, so why try to court more than one? But a blond-haired boy was moderately receptive to my friendship. We exchanged instant messages, but we didn’t hit it off online.
I gave up my search. Rejection felt tough.
But when I came to Kent, I contacted my lukewarm Facebook friend to see if he wanted to get lunch. He agreed, and when I saw him walking toward me outside the Student Center in his “Where’s Waldo”-style polo, sparks flew.
I found him.
As time passed, he realized he had found his hag, and the boy I’d Facebook-stalked in March was now my gay boyfriend.
Now since I was a freshman in high school, I’ve had more boyfriends than I can count on two hands, but I’ve only had two gay boyfriends. Of the 15 dances I went to while I was in high school, I went to 10 of them with my gay boyfriend. For about half of those 10 dances, I had an actual boyfriend I could have taken.
Why didn’t I take my actual boyfriend? Well, like many modern advances in areas such as medicine and technology, the powers that be built a better date to weddings, dances, banquets, clubs and holiday parties when they discovered the gay boyfriend.
He dances, and unlike the straight boys you could have dragged along after wrestling them into semi-formalwear, the gay boyfriend will dance without you begging and pleading and promising to put out. On top of that, he’s usually good at it.
He won’t argue about matching. If you’re wearing a teal dress, you can bet he’s going to find a tie the same color, much unlike my straight boyfriend sophomore year, who wouldn’t wear a pink tie to my homecoming. I tried and tried to get him in a pink tie, but he wouldn’t budge. He showed up in a purple tie and a pink shirt two sizes too big.
Your friends like him. While your actual boyfriend is a douche bag who treats you like crap — I mean, you did take a gay boy to prom over him for a reason — your gay boyfriend is on great terms with your friends. He’s so cute and fun that your friends might have forgotten you were there if your hand wasn’t linked with his.
There’s no gossip. I don’t mean that he won’t gossip, because that is hard to say. No, rather, no one will gossip about you and your date like they would have if you’d brought the mediocre-looking guy from work. There’s none of that “Are they dating?” “Are they sleeping together?” “Isn’t she mad that he’s dancing with other girls?” They all know he’s batting — more like pitching or catching — for the other team.
Even if you’re not taking your gay boyfriend to a formal event as your date, he’s got one up on most boyfriends in that he’ll remember your birthday and get you a gorgeous pair of silver sequined flats. He’ll bring you things when you’re sick, or really hungover. He’ll listen to you bitch without complaining, as long as you let him vent, too.
He’ll cuddle with you any time. He’ll tell you when you look fabulous, and he’ll tell you when you look horrific.
If I failed a test or a class, lost something important, got turned down for a role in a play, got dumped, got rejected by a college, got turned down for a job or made a big mistake, my gay boyfriend was always there for me.
Whether it was Tony, the dancing queen who preferred to play video games with my brother rather than accompany me on a shopping spree, or Nick, my newfound fag, who is relatively fluent in five or so languages and has blood that’s probably 90 percent Diet Coke, I have always been able to count on my gay boyfriend.
This March, Tony and I celebrated our fifth anniversary; Nick and I celebrated our one-year. So far, they are the longest relationships I’ve ever had.
And that doesn’t bother me one bit.
