Word: closets
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...about to appear on stage. I momentarily had the impression that I was about to be welcoming a large woman in Viking horns, but I quickly remembered I was here to see a diva of another sort. Dressed in an embroidered vest stolen from his mother’s closet, a tight black shirt and a pair of faded jeans, Rufus came onto the stage and sat down at the grand piano awaiting him. And then he sang...
Clothing is key for the social butterfly. Students can spend hours scouring their closet for the perfect outfit to wear to the Fly’s Calypso party or to a wine and cheese soirée. The most glamorous at Harvard hit the parties clad in hip jeans, sporting preppy button-downs and swinging designer purses...
Being a veteran competitor, I found special meaning in my high school’s annual cross-dressing pageant. Not because I was finally a sophomore or because I had just turned 16, but because a week earlier I had been dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the closet where I had hidden with my sexuality since the sixth grade. I was secretly dating a senior, Joseph Ragsdale, the desire of many wistful females and the target of endless gay-bashing. In the past, students had spray-painted slurs on his car and adorned it with pornography. The student body...
When I came out of the closet, I painted the door pink and nailed it shut. Yes, I’m a dramatic, finger-snapping flamer with limp wrists, a slight lisp and tight jeans. A little too much sugar in the pants. Captain of the pink team. Maybe that’s why I’m spending Valentine’s Day alone with a box of chocolates from myself...
...appearing comfortable with my sexuality, I found life easier, relatively speaking, by the time I was a senior. The confident drag queen was more intimidating than the timid closet case. Whether my harassers feared my vitriolic quips or my confrontational finger snaps, they had stopped whispering, spitting and throwing. My flamboyance had worn them out. Well, most of them. One morning in October, as I left for school, I realized the mailbox was missing. I found my mother’s flower pots shattered on our front steps. I saw the word “faggot” etched...