Insinuations

Lying there on the table, face down, completely naked, I'm casually talking with the massage therapist about the bruises on my lower legs. I explain that they're from learning to ride a bike. Then, laughingly, I tell her, "I'm a walking catastrophe! I think my doctor thinks I am a battered spouse, since I show up with the most random injuries and corresponding stories!"

She chuckles, then asks, "Do you at least have one to give a hard time to about them?"

"What, a spouse?" I ask a little confused.

"Yeah, or, like a partner, or something..." she trails off, avoiding getting gender specific.

"No," I say, totally neglecting to specify gender either. She finishes my massage and we never go back to the question of my gender preference.

Great. Now she thinks I'm gay. That's flipping awesome.