Like most gay couples, my boyfriend and I have been asked which of us is "the girl" in our relationship.
It's less offensive to me than the "who's on top?" favorite, because I suppose it's normal for most straight people to hetero-ize "gay relationships" to make sense of them, and it doesn't necessarily mean they're trying to picture us naked and lube-lathered. "The girl" could mean a lot of things.
Still, it's a question I've never really known how to answer. The only difference between our relationship and any heterosexual one is that we're both men. In my mind, I'm no more in a "comic book fan relationship" or a "white relationship" than in a gay one.
But society starts gender-branding almost as soon as we're born: girls in pink, boys in blue, Carrot Top in... well, who knows what, and it continues into childhood with the Barbie-for-girls, Tonka-for-boys Happy Meals. What if I wanted both? What's Barbie supposed to drive? Ken's busy lookin' at G.I. Joe, and girl has to shop, become a ballerina, move to Malibu and make some Bratz feel bad about their enormous heads.
But depending on who you are and whether or not I've had my Diet Coke, I'll probably attempt an answer. In some ways I'm the girl — and in others, he is. He'd rather see Prince of Persia, and I'm Sex in the City 2. But whereas I just want to know what's become of my favorite characters, he can name every designer Carrie's wearing in the film. (We saw the sequel. I won.)
And as for which one of us usually "has a headache," it's more likely to be him. I don't hold it against him. It's just that I'd do it anywhere, any time, at least twice and after six years, it's better than ever which means that so is my, well, drive. Which brings me to ice cream.