Once upon a summer visit to the parents, I went up to see some Javanese shadow puppets at the Asian Art Museum of San Francisco with Mama and Mike in tow. On our way back to the South Bay, we got stuck in a bit of a weekend traffic jam thanks to the Folsom Street Fair. This was one of the more amusing causes of city congestion for the streets were cluttered with all sorts of human scenery: lots of gents with assless-chaps, studded dog collars, and tiny Speedos. Even Mike was enjoying the leather-clad, and vinyl-clad and bears, Oh My!
We'd been caught in traffic for the better part of an hour, occasionally making comments about our favorite outfits or some naughty slogans cleverly waxed into some furry back hair. We all decided that the San Francisco gay community knew how to throw a decent party. That's when Mike chimes in:
"I think I'm going to be gay in my retirement."
We stopped for ice cream once we were out of the city. I was gifted the keys and took the wheel for the rest of the trip down 280. This would have been fine if my parents had not proceeded to make out in the back seat for the entire drive. At the time I was thoroughly embarrassed. Now I wonder if Dad was trying to prove that he was making a joke, or if he was trying to get it out of his system. When he complains that he's had enough of women, we jestingly ask him about his plans for retirement.