…that’s the title Steve so graciously bestowed upon me due to my uncanny ability to find gay men everywhere. They weren’t difficult to find on Friday night because we were all in Heaven…the “world famous gay club.” Yes. I may be the Queen, but I was certainly out amongst my subjects that night…lots and lots of them.
The evening began with a trip to a pub for a pint. The pub we chose, without even trying to be ironic, was the Queens Arms. Lovely. Then, back to the flat for drinking and dressing up. I swear, I was going to wear sensible flat shoes, but three beers and a vodka later found me in high heels, tottering toward the Tube with Steve, Jessica, Lauren, Corey, and Matt. I don’t remember the actual Tube ride, but I must have taken it because we got to the club about 11:30. Matt left soon after because he doesn’t like to dance, but the girls and I danced around Steve and each other to such wonderful songs as “My Humps” (why do gay men want to listen to that?) and lots of Madonna (one cannot go a day in London without hearing at least one Madonna song).
Corey and Lauren left around 2:30, but Jess, Steve and I stayed until 3:30 (we all sensibly turned down the offer of the after party, which apparently lasted until 2 p.m…yeeeesh). Now I am left to ponder one of the greatest mysteries of the universe: Why can I dance happily for four hours in high heels, but the second I try to leave the club I can no longer walk? Two days later and I’m still seriously bothered by this.
You’d think I’d be more concerned with the fact that I was kissed by two guys at a gay club, but, looking at the details of my life, I’d say that only makes sense…