My spouse and I completed our chores at the mother-in-law’s place in Pittsburgh, and headed back on the 250-mile trek to our home in Maryland.

When nature called, we stopped at a rest stop on the Turnpike.

When you enter the building, there is a Starsucks on the left and bathrooms on the right. Waiting in line for Starsucks were the “usual suspects,” millennials starting at smartphones, wearing shorts and flip-flops. Wearing denim jeans and brown Chippewa harness boots, I don’t fit that kind of crowd; I turned right and headed into the bathroom and into a toilet stall.

You quite never know what you will hear while using the toilet at a rest stop, but the subject of this post is exactly what I overheard when two guys who entered the bathroom about the same time that I did…

…went to the the urinals next to, ahem, where I was “seated.”

One of the guys must have been looking down (“ahem” again) and said, “nice boots, what are they?” I couldn’t see him, so I did not say anything. I couldn’t tell if he were speaking to me. Turns out he was talking to the guy next to him who was also wearing boots.

The other guy replied, “Justins.”

Guy #1 said, “nice boots.”

Guy #2 said, “yeah, I ain’t no fag in flip-flops.”

That is exactly what I heard. Sheesh. Where did that come from? Did he check out the people waiting in the Starsucks line? I doubt these two guys lived in the area. They were passing through, like me.

I never like to hear pejorative terms like that used, but I was not in a place where I could say anything — in the compromised position that I was (ahem, remember I was “seated” on a toilet?) — I was just going to let it go, SMH at the foolishness.

When I finished my business, I stepped out of the stall to wash my hands. Those two guys had finished and walked out without washing.

I left the bathroom and saw my spouse waiting for me. I walked up to him and asked, “ready to go?” to which my spouse said, “yep, let’s hit the road.”

Just as we were leaving, Guy #1 from the bathroom came up to me and said, “were you just in the bathroom? Don’t think I’m a fag or something,” (glancing at Guy #2 standing next to him) “I just noticed those boots you’re wearing and wanted to know where you got ’em.”

I was a bit non-plussed, but recovered quickly enough. Without batting an eye, I pointed to my spouse and replied, “my husband here got them for me as a birthday gift.” (Turning to my spouse, I asked,) “Do you remember where you bought them, honey?”

My spouse knew precisely what I was doing and said, “on-line; I don’t remember exactly.”

But the look on the faces of these guys was priceless. They both stammered and were flustered. One couldn’t get ahead of the other faster while running out the door. Their exit was comical.

My spouse and I laughed and laughed.

Life is short: yep, us married gay men wear boots. No flip-flops for us (faggy or otherwise!)