Don't Speak Now

Last week, we brought you a horrifying tale about heterosexual marriage. Today we have a differently terrible tale: while that unfortunate, beautiful heterosexual woman is laboring away, only 120 sandwiches away from a proposal, two queer teenagers have beaten her to the punch.

A little backstory: this past weekend was Pride. Not Allured, Amandapanda, and I were watching the Triangle Gay Men’s Chorus sing a few Broadway standards, including “Seize the Day” from Newsies and “Seasons of Love” from Rent. As the chorus peppily taught us how to measure, measure a year – in daylights? in sunsets? in midnights? in cups of coffee?? – we noticed a group of teenagers on our left holding hands and swaying to the music.  Their hippie love-in continued to grow in size; it was unclear if they were trapping random passers-by or if, alternately, they were all gathering there for some dark purpose.

After the Triangle Gay Men’s Chorus finished their rendition of “Seasons of Love,” the MC appeared to tell us that we were about to witness a FIRST for NC Pride. My sistren and I were intrigued. We had already experienced a crushing disappointment when we discovered that Bold Strokes Books and D. Jackson Leigh were mysteriously absent from this year’s Pride festivities, and that consequently, our readerly souls would be neither barebacked nor touched gently by lesbians and telekinetic horses. Maybe this promised event would help us deal with the loss of cheesy lesbian romance novels, and we could start the healing process …

Instead, our hopes were crushed, not unlike the time I saw Real-Life Amy Ray at the Pinhook and she failed to recognize our soulbond. This, however, was far worse. We watched in horror as the hippie love-in moved forward, a writhing mass of rainbows and hormones, and unfolded in a straight line in front of the stage. A perky teenager bounced up on the stage, took the mike, and proceeded to PROPOSE MARRIAGE TO HER GIRLFRIEND.

Amandapanda, Not Allured, and I turned to each other with expressions of unspeakable horror. As the proposal continued – “can’t imagine living without you” – “you’re the love of my life” – we struggled to make sense of the brave new world in which we suddenly found ourselves. What kind of crazy place was this? How long had they been dating? Weren’t they in high school? This was almost just like that time Not Allured’s former student contacted her to inquire about the wisdom of getting her girlfriend’s name tattooed on her body, BUT CRAZIER.

So we have some concerns we’d like to address here. Baby queers: we know that love is a many splendor’d battlefield that lifts you up, YOU ARE ONLY IN HIGH SCHOOL (or like, early college. Maybe). There are still hundreds (or dozens) of people you haven’t had sex with (or held hands with) yet. You are also young and stupid. Your prefrontal cortex has not finished developing, which is why you do things like listen to One Direction and take endless selfies in the bathroom and go skinny-dipping in shark-infested waters. You are still learning how to have feelings and not be terrible human beings; you are still learning how to drive, speak a foreign language, sneak out of your bedroom without getting caught, and drink responsibly. You are still learning about yourself. You cannot possibly know whether you are ready to take on the incredible burden of loving someone else FOREVER AND ALWAYS.

Please listen to your sistren, who are older and wiser and have read many romance novels about high school romances that never fade that nevertheless seem like absolutely terrible relationships for sane people to be in. 

As Taylor Swift says, while Not Allured and I are not the kind of girls who should be rudely barging in on a white-veil occasion, you, my sweet sweet baby gays, are NOT the kind of girls who should be marrying anyone at all - because you're only sixteen, guys.