Sunday Funday
Why the Gay Bar Refuses to Die
Yesterday, my boyfriend, Jonathan, and I celebrated the fourth anniversary of our first date with a chill brunch with friends, followed by a few drinks at our corner gay bar. There has been much ink spilled over the alleged death of the gay bar; and while it is certainly true that many cherished queer watering holes have closed, or been invaded by straight girls’ bachelorette parties, or — God forbid — gone full-on hetero, gay bars continue to exist, because they still fulfill a vital social function.
As we toddled from our bougie brunch spot, fueled by overpriced eggs benedict and strawberry mimosas, we decided that weren’t in the mood to spend yet another dull afternoon languishing in our apartment; so we ducked out of the Sunday afternoon drizzle into a gay bar for a leisurely cocktail. We perched ourselves on two of the many open stools at the bar and ordered a pear martini and margarita and settled in for a little light banter with the bar staff and the few white-haired regulars. The atmosphere was a bit sleepy, so we moved on to another bar down the block that is always hopping on Sunday afternoons.
