Coming out of the neverending closet

I’ve come out of the closet at least seven times this week. To my newsagent, to my friend’s mum, to the Wood Green Cineworld ticket attendant, to you… The list goes on.

I thought when I finally spat it out four years ago that that was that. I was OUT. How wrong I was. Every time you meet a new acquaintance who doesn’t have inbuilt gaydar, and can’t instantly pinpoint you as a homosexual from 500 paces, you have to announce yourself AGAIN. If I gathered up everyone I’d ever come out to and laid them end to end, they’d reach from here to Hebden Bridge.

The intricate coming out process never gets any easier. There inevitably comes a stress-inducing point in a conversation with a new person where you feel the absolute necessity to reveal your status at that very second, like you’re keeping a great secret and can’t conceal it any longer. It’s like Year 11 all over again. This will unavoidably lead to you dropping in the fact of your gayness at totally inopportune moments, strategically mentioning your girlfriend at the earliest opportunity, or confessing that you’re currently reading Sarah Waters. Anything to get over that coming out hurdle.

I personally would have thought that my short back ‘n’ sides would be a dead giveaway, along with my decidedly non-flouncy attire. Not so, it seems. The fact is, I’ll have to come out on an almost daily basis until the sacred day, the long awaited day when all our awkward come-outs will cease: the day Blackberry finally come up with their newest application: the Lez Detector.