I've always loved me a white trashy boy...

I traveled back to the land-o-my-birth this past weekend. A small town in south central Iowa called Albia. Now the good news is that Albia is in Monroe County which is in the second from the last row of counties at the bottom of the state. For they say that is Missouri would annex the last row of counties in Iowa it would increase the average IQ of both states. The scary part is that it's not really an exaggeration. Now it so happens my trip coincided with Restoration Days, an annual summer celebration with a parade, craft fair, music on the town square, and the annual "Follies" show. The theme of Restoration Days is of the time the town was first settled back in the mid-nineteenth century. Well, my mother bought me a ticket for the "Follies' knowing I'm an avid thespian myself. With bated anticipation, I slammed down a couple tiny triples of rum & coke and headed for the old King Theatre and the show. A short walk from where I parked the car on the square, I passed one of the local corner bars. I noticed a cute young man with a yellow T-shirt and ball cap on sitting out front, smoking. I smiled. He shouted to me, " Hey, come on and have a beer". I almost turned around right then but instead slowed my stride and shouted back, "I'm going to need something a little stronger than beer". "Well, come on then" he replied. I continued my short walk, entered the theatre, found my seat and while waiting the five or ten minutes for the curtain to go up, listened to the pre-show sing-a-long of Roll Out the Barrel. At last, the house lights out, the curtain's going up, the orchestra starts to play and I actually sat all the way through the opening number. I sat through the next act as well, eight septuagenarians doing what they called a dance routine. I won't go into any more detail about the show itself other than to say if it was only one tenth as good as Corky St. Clair's musical about Blaine Missouri in Waiting for Guffman, I would have stayed. So I decided to forego the rest of the show and head back to The Owl's Nest bar and the friendly young man. Now I really don't like to stereotype or label anyone being a victim of stereotypes my whole life but let's just Buddy (the young man's name) and the rest of the patrons in the bar only reinforced my believe that white trash is alive and well and living in Albia. I've always admitted that's the way I grew up. And Buddy, cute of face, a little hunky of body, a little slow of wit, why he's my fantasy come true. Can I help it if I still have a secret fondness for those white trashy boys. He was a good-looking one to boot. Then he started in on the "gay thing". That it didn't matter to him that I am gay but he's not. How many times did he say, "but I'm not gay" that evening. I lost count. Enough for me to say "Me thinks the lady doth protest too much." Sigh.