By Allison Somerville
My gay best friend Andrew came over one Sunday for a tradition we have called “Us Night” where we drink wine, watch movies and talk shit about our best girlfriends. After watching the scene in My Best Friend’s Wedding where Rupert Everett sassily tells Julia Roberts that she needs to get her shit together, I confirmed a sneaking suspicion I’ve had for weeks. I’m the Rupert Everett.
Though I may be a typical, heterosexual woman, I’m the gay best friend for my gay best friend.
As a woman, I am entitled to a gay best friend to offer sassy quips, fashion advice and an ear for me to vent about my love life. It would help if said gay best friend could affectionately refer to me as “Girl”, “Honey”, “Sweetie”, “Queen” and “Bitch,” yet somehow it’s ended up the other way around.
Yesterday, Andrew came over all upset because his boyfriend Reese thinks he might be a top now and it’s been an emotional trauma. Before I could stop myself, the following words flew out of my mouth:
“Bitch, y’all need to work it out! You’re too cute for this drama.”
I covered my mouth in shock. Did I just say “y’all”? I looked down and saw that I was wearing a bow tie. On my laptop, a new episode of HBO’s Looking (which I relate to more than Girls) was loading. In my Google search bar auto-filled with the words, “best RuPaul lip-sync.” Not only was I gay, I was basic. This was by far the lowest point of my life.
Looking back, I saw early signs that I was the real gay friend in this relationship. On “Us Night”, I wanted to watch Nine featuring Daniel Day Lewis and Fergie, a way gayer movie than My Best Friend’s Wedding. Why would I be picking the gayer movie? He’s the one who has anal sex with men. He’s supposed to be bringing the gay to this friendship!
The good news is that I’m taking the steps to not be a supporting character in his life, but a leading lady in mine. So today I slept with my boss and now I’m really fucked up about it. Andrew is on his way over to “support me.”
I finally feel like Julia Roberts!