A gasp at intermission.
A nostalgic pilgrimage to the JCPenney underwear aisle.
An earnest attempt to bake a rainbow cake.
The subsequent purchase of a slice of rainbow cake.
A turbulent “trip to ‘Chromatica’ ” (listening to “Chromatica” on shuffle).
A triumphant march in your own personal Pride parade (the walk from
your couch, where you were watching “Drag Race,” to your bed, to
watch “Drag Race”).
A lengthy exhale in a single-stall, gender-neutral bathroom.
A blindfolded taste test of cold brews and iced coffees from the
independent coffee shops in your local area.
Slowly pouring a vodka soda on your favorite shirt to simulate a
A juvenile giggle at the memory that the Stonewall riots happened in
Watching “Fire Island” in lieu of going to Fire Island.
Taking notes on RuPaul’s MasterClass as if there will be a quiz.
Circling—like a queer shark—the L.G.B.T.Q.I.A.+ Interest section of
your local bookstore.
A juvenile giggle in the grocery store at the sight of a peach.
A juvenile giggle in the grocery store at the sight of an eggplant.
Eye contact with the grocery-store attendant who witnessed your peach
and eggplant giggles.
Rewriting by hand the entirety of “
and “ .”
Drawing a John Waters mustache and Trixie Mattel cheeks on your face
using ninety-nine-cent cosmetics from CVS.
A Sunday-morning stroll holding two cups of iced coffee (both are for
A retracing of your first walk of shame.
The drafting of a think piece on the rainbow-washing of Pride and its
alienation from its activist origins.
The subsequent deletion of your think piece.
A trip—in disguise—to the Target clearance rack on July 1st.
A wise smile during a rare moment of clarity—a vision of
interconnectedness moving slowly toward progress, toward liberation,
A juvenile giggle at the word “community.” ♦