I know that Mary Grace likely never worries about what her sexual orientation says about her, and for this, I resent her. I find that it’s really just that: While straightness gets to simply exist, I must agonize. I try to locate the source of my rage, to figure out why I detest straightness so much for simply existing. Still, for a period when I go for walks through Prospect Park, I can’t help but imagine throwing hot coffee at all the straight couples I see being straight together in public.Ĭataloging my lust makes me feel like I can make sense of it for others’ digestibility I wish Mary Grace and Duncan a pleasant evening. Later, I feel guilty for judging them both so harshly. For some inexplicable reason, I’m possessed by a forceful temptation to tell her to shut the fuck up, because I know from his name that Duncan simply must be ugly and boring-and in that moment, I feel very decidedly not straight. I feel close to her for a moment, but then Mary Grace starts telling me about a Hinge date she’s going on later with a guy named Duncan, and about how long it’s been since she’s seen a penis, and about how badly she hopes to soon get laid.
#Netflix queue sign in tv#
Mary Grace is very blonde, and very straight, and talks like she probably authors the BuzzFeed quizzes I’ve been taking to determine which TV show character I’m most similar to.Īt work, while we restock garments to their racks and sanitize clothes hangers, Mary Grace and I briefly discuss Carol, and I take comfort in knowing that she’s watched and enjoyed a film of this nature. On Saturdays, I work alongside a coworker named Mary Grace, who I sometimes talk to about film and television. Lately when I clock into work at my retail job, I find myself pondering these celebrity crush lists. There’s something pubescent about the need to be a judiciary of sex appeal
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