Non-Hateration

Isn't the word hateration just too good? When my older niece was little, she liked The Hateration Song. One cannot fault her. As bum-dancing songs go, it is excellent (I actually want to just get up from the laptop right now and hit the stereo and do some damage to this filthy pigsty of a house of mine. Which: in a minute.)

Writing that last post, I got to thinking about the fact that, when I told my mom about going to see Drag Race live, all she did was laugh with that unique mix of "Diane, WHAT craziness are you into now" and the underlying clear understanding of *exactly* what craziness I am into, and why. And, of course, she could not wait to laugh some more by scandalizing my stepfather, telling him about my latest craziness. It's how the three of us bond telling on each other and laughing about it.

Of course, he's harder to scandalize than he once was.

And my mom is not scandalized, not even one whit.


Mom, a religious conservative and a Southern lady Of a Certain Age, with all that means, has always been perhaps almost curiously tolerant of homosexuality. Beyond "I just don't want them rubbing it in my face", she has no actual ire to spare for gay men (and I think "homosexuality" is a limited concept for her, mainly applying to men - where the rest of the LGBT spectrum lies in her morality is perhaps closer to the religious right's standard positions, or perhaps scarcely exists at all).

The best part of this - EVER - was about five or six years ago, when things were a little financially tight for me. I'd started selling a few things on eBay, and had picked up a repeat customer we will call Prissy. Prissy's eBay handle wasn't far off that term, but the PO Box I mailed her won auctions to was attached to a name traditionally considered to be a "boy's" name.

I was basically selling to a baby drag queen, or transgender kid - and it meant a lot to me to provide a safe place for Prissy. Prissy was a GREAT customer, and adorable, and asked me if I had any purses one time.

So: mom and I went shopping. I found clothes and shoes and some purses for Prissy.

MOM was as into this as I was. We had fun - would this work, would this be fun, would this be cute? How about this?

Shopping for drag with my mom.

And this was no furtive secret for her, either. She told people how much fun she had, and how the baby drag queen was saving my Christmas. Mom's enjoyment was pure, on its own merits - not even tied to the self-conscious PC-ery I had wrapped up in it



When I look at Adore and Violet and the many young queens RuPaul has had on Drag Race ... I remember Prissy with joy. I *hope* what she got from me gave her some nights out as happy as the feelings she still gives to me, when I remember.

I hope Prissy is happy, safe, and well.

I hope she has good shoes and a cute bag.



And I hope she's having as much fun as Adore is, in the Take Me There vid that tops her website right now. Because it would not be possible to watch that and not want to dance with her, not smile and laugh a bit.

Sometimes, ya gotta laugh.



Especially when things are least laughable.