The Gays

Getting undressed in my house is an event, mostly because I haven't become fully accustomed to Phil's need to drop everything and anything, be it web surfing, doing dishes, or brushing his teeth, and watch me get naked. Too much information? Trust me, it's going somewhere other than my bare bum.

Without bowing to standard narratives of men "just naturally" being more visual or more sexual or more aggressively, visually sexual, I want to understand this. I know it can't be that exciting, especially knowing the show gets worse with every decision to stay in and eat creme brulee instead of running around the block. Besides the curves that are just getting curvier, there is also not much of a change from day to day. These are my boobs. They don't change color or radically increase in size when you stare at them. I love Phil, and do so without my pupils dilating at the sight of exposed flesh. I mean, don't get me wrong, the sexy beast of a man in my house gets visual attention, but it is more of an are-you-really-wearing-THAT? flavor.

So, with this weighing heavy on my mind, Phil embarked upon a staring spree last night as I most un-gracefully changed pants and I said:

"you know, when you do that it makes me think of all the feminist scholarship on The GAZE."

Phil heard:

"you know, when you do that it makes me think of all the feminist scholarship on The GAYS."

What began with a fit of laughing and a very wide-eyed and confused Phil ended with:

"What? You think I'm immaculately dressed and well-groomed?"