”So,” says X male character to his (male!) crush/boyfriend/lover/delete whichever makes you throw up less, “you love me. You want to marry me and have a white picket fence and 2.5 kids and a Volvo.”
“Oh em gee YES,” says the lucky, lucky recipient of X’s affections.
DUDES. This PAINS me. Let’s even leave aside the fact that we’re writing about two guys getting together (Commitment-Phobic City) and just think what this exchange says about us. It says that WE all want this white picket existence, secretly, because it is almost invariably the way desire to commit, settle, establish a relationship or whatever is depicted.
I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure it’s not what I want. For one thing, my fence is going to have FUCKING GARGOYLES ON. We’re writers. We’re forging a brave new world, sort of. Is a little originality too much to ask for?
(‘So,’ says X, ‘you love me, but you still won’t wash your socks, or hold my hand in public, or take down that heinous poster of Jessica Alba, and your taste in carpets is abysmal.’
‘Pretty much,” says Y, “and, even though you love soaps and insist on revealing all the storylines you’ve got off the internet to anyone who will listen and lots who won’t, and you think that ‘joke’ you do with the carrot is hilarious, and I hate your hair, I love you too.’
‘We could think about maybe getting a joint account. Or putting a deposit on a house?’
‘Let’s maybe rent, and see how long I can go without killing you in your sleep, first.’
‘I thought you’d never ask.’)