Following a two year absence and motivated in part by the thought-provoking posts of Brian, I have decided to start writing again. It’s a presidential election year and baseball starts soon, so why not? The straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back, however, was lunch yesterday.
For the last few months, we’ve been frequenting Locanda Positano on the weekends when the weather permits. With several tables on the sidewalk, it’s a great place to have a lengthy lunch with Scooter while enjoying the parade of people and their pooches that saunter past. As the food is better-than-average Italian, the foodies seem to flock here regularly. On a day like yesterday (18°C/64°F) — it’s still January, mind you — a call ahead to reserve a spot outside was indeed prudent.
The table next to us was a couple who were midway through their lunch when we arrived. Scooter always invites conversation with strangers, and this couple was no exception. Turns out that they were both ardent baseball fans and had noticed on our SF Giants caps. We chatted a fair bit about baseball, dogs, and the apprehension expressed by the mother about raising her two sons. Nice folks, so I asked for a couple extra glasses and proffered some of the Italian white we had at the table.
Mundane, right? It was until the guy asked the following question — this is the ROI in sharing your wine with strangers:
Where do gay men on the Peninsula congregate socially? My partner and I have been living here for almost nine years and are still trying to figure it out.
Usually my gaydar is pretty accurate; it seems to have been in the shop for maintenance on this occasion. Here’s a guy sporting an ordinary gold wedding band on his left finger, dining with an attractive woman with whom we’ve been chatting about kids and baseball. Turned out they were best friends in high school and were out having a lunch away from their respective partners.
I’m still trying to figure out if the stereotypes that blinded me were about gay people, straight people, or both. As for how we registered on his gaydar: must have been the matching caps.
Title inspiration credit: Todd Rundgren