Mommie Always Knows

and she knows this ain't your first rodeo.

My mother doesn't know I'm gay. Well, not that we've discussed, but Mama has always "known" about her baby boy.

Let's face it...I was always the sensitive child, last picked for kickball, an avid reader (i.e. geek), had girls as my best pals, wanted a Ken doll one year for Christmas, and I cried when I had to wear the red corduroy bellbottom pants (although now they would have been fabulous).

Nevertheless, I never felt the need to tell Mama about which side my bread was buttered on. And so I went about my adult life, and Mama never questioned why my relationships with girls didn't work out, or why I always had male roommates, or any of that stuff.

Even once when Mama and her sisters visited HotAss and I for Thanksgiving dinner, Mama and The Sisters never once questioned how two young 20ish men decorated a table so elaborately and made a meal so delicious (okay, so HotAss did it all...I just made a mess out of the mashed potatoes.)

Fast forward several years to eve of moving in with my new beau. I'm in my old apartment, packing up, when there is a knock at the door. Lo and behold, there stands Mama and The Sisters. Well, of course they want to see my new place. On the way over, I call the beau and tell him that Mama and the Sisters are with me to see the new apartment. Intuitively, he asks if there's anything he should "pick up." My mind flashes to the pictures of us cuddling in Key West or the holiday pictures of us together or the customary naked man photos that hang in the bathroom. Yes, you should definitely hide those things.

I give them the grand tour, always staying a few steps ahead, just in case there should be some "de-gaying" that needed to take place. As I step into the kitchen with Mama and The Sisters in tow, I spot the naked man photos on the kitchen counter, awaiting their rightful spot in the bathroom. I catch the Beau's eyes across the room and give him the look that says "GET THESE OUT OF MY SIGHT!" Expertly and swifty, he intercepts us and creates a diversion while he casually flips the pictures over. Crisis number one averted.

The Beau returns to the room that we will eventually share and starts hanging curtains while I finish the tour. Mama comments that "his" room will be completely decorated before I even get a stick of furniture moved into "my" room - the other bedroom. Again, I catch the Beau's eyes and we make love-y faces, smirking at Mama's naivete.

Once back in the car and driving back to my apartment, Mama speaks.

"James, can I ask you something?"

Oh boy, here it comes. Please don't do this in front of The Sisters. Any other time, just not now.

"Last week, I was at the funeral home..."

Oh, God knows what people talk about in a small town. And a funeral is a good time to drag out somebody's dirty laundry. Who, at a funeral home, told you I was gay?

"And someone brought in a beautiful flower arrangement."

Oh so it has to do with the gays and their knack for flower arranging.

This whole exchange was working me into quite a state, wondering where in gay hell this might possibly be going.

"And right in the middle was a big sunflower. Somebody said that it meant something. What do you think it means?"

IT MEANS THAT YOUR YOUNGEST SON IS A FLAMING HOMOSEXUAL! THAT'S WHAT IT MEANS! I'VE BEEN MEANING TO TELL YOU FOR YEARS! GET IT? SUNFLOWER = SON. FLOWER ARRANGEMENT = GAY. I'M GAY, MAMA! I'M GAY!

I looked up in the rearview mirror to see if she was serious, and she was. She really wanted to know what the sunflower meant.

"Well, Mama, I don't know what it means. I've never heard of such a thing."

"Oh well, I just thought you might," she said, and the conversation ended.

But somehow, I think she knew I was lying. Mama always knows.