one girlfriend please in japanese

"One girlfriend, please. Japanese variety. Thanks."

"--It's painted HRC blue, and he's getting the yellow equals sign put

on it tomorrow. He's going to drive it in the parade with us!"

Co-chair was very excited. "He said, 'you guys may not have a float,

but you have my car!'"

I was duly appreciative. "Wow! That's so fantastic!" Co-chair

suggested I call the Pride coordinator and see if we could put the car

next to our booth during the Festivities, to which I rapidly agreed.

"So," Co-chair continued, "he's straight, and--"

"WHAT? Whoa. No way. 'He's straight'? WHO'S straight? Not the guy who

owns the car?"

"Yup. He's straight, and his dad, one of our volunteers, is gay."

"He's straight?! Are you serious?! Wow.." I sat there, blinking and

shaking my head. I was thoroughly shaken. And then I smiled deviously.

"So..." I casually asked, "how old is he?"

Co-chair started to laugh. "He's about 27..he has a girlfriend."

"Oh - I wasn't - I mean, I was just --" Transparency, thy name is

eleka..

"Uh huh, sure you were just." I could hear the grin in Co-chair's

voice over the phone. I stuck out my tongue at my mind's eye laughing

Co-chair. "He only goes for Asians."

"WHAT?! Asians? Ew." I blinked. Since when did dismay become analogous

with disgust? I shook my head at my automatic reply. "I mean, not ew -

just..damn. Just damn. Asians? She's Asian?"

"Yeah. He's big into Japan and Japan stuff - he's been over there and

everything."

"Hmm." I was disappointed. "Well, he's prolly not even very cute."

"Oooooh, he's quite cute," Co-chair stated in a likewise very

disappointed tone.

"Really?"

"Mmmm hmmm."

This was more than disappointing. He could at least be unattractive to

make up for the fact that he's an *unavailable* gay rights activist

straight guy.

"What does he do?" I inquired.

"He's a mechanic."

"Ahhhhh." Thank god. I breathed an audible sigh of relief. "That's

fantastic. He's blue collar! He's not my type anyway. Prolly never

bathes," I added in my typical snobbish tone of dismissal.

Co-chair chuckled. "Actually, he's very clean. Very classy, very

groomed, is always dressed impecc---"

"CO-CHAIR!! YOU'RE NOT HELPING!!!!"

He burst out laughing. "Right! Ok, ok!"

"Blue collar! He is blue collar and nothing but. A mechanic." I

started listing to myself everything that came along with a mechanic:

grease, dirt, grime, pagan rituals involving cheap beer and bodily

functions honouring the god of back hair and WD-40. (Ok, so I'm a wee

bit prejudiced.)

"Yes, blue collar. Very blue collar." Co-chair was obviously humouring

me, with much amusement.

I was content with my pre-emptive judgment. I had to be. It's not like

I can go to the gym and purchase an Asiatic visage. Hell, I'll be