I think I'm gay.
What has caused me to leap to such a startling conclusion, you ask? Well apart from my fondness for committing various lusty acts upon the bodies of other men, last night I dreamt of dancing with Liza Minnelli. We were at a fabulous party, and she was flirting heavily with me, lifting her kilt (yes, kilt) in my general direction.
Later on--after I'd been awakened by Jonno as he came to bed and laughed at by same after telling him of Liza's appearance in my reverie--I had another, in which Queen Elizabeth II and I were dashing about a schmancy hotel, dodging the paparazzi. As we hid crouched in an empty, fluorescently lit hallway, the queen, who was looking very chubby and wore a bad Joan of Arc wig, pleaded with me to get her a cocktail--a whiskey somethingorother (sour? soda? mayosa?). About that time, my dog, Gaston, stepped squarely on my nether region, and that was all she wrote.
So, yeah, between Liza and the queen, I think I may be gay. Or maybe it has something to do with the sizeable quantities of coffee, beer, and Chinese food I consumed just before bedtime. Or the fact that I'm sleeping with my boyfriend. Who can say?