If you’ve ever read my ebullient odes to Beyoncé, tweets living for every single moment of an episode of Real Housewives of New York, or near constant admissions to weeping openly and hysterically at everything from Inside Out to a particularly touching toilet paper commercial, you may not be surprised to learn—if you trade in stereotypes, of which I certainly adhere to many—that I am gay.
If you have ever happened to watch one of my sporadic appearances as a pop culture talking head on a cable news show or entertainment program, then you definitely know this fact about me. It is undisguisable.
I sound so gay.
Kind-heartedly assuaging my insecurities, friends and family have claimed that I do not sound like the lisping-fairy-pixie-elf-homo-unicorn I hear whenever I torture myself by watching one of those TV appearances, or, worse, submit myself to the cruel and unusual punishment of transcribing an interview I’ve conducted.