September 30, 2014
Washington Square Park
Source: Shutterstock
First comes marriage, then comes adoption, then comes the quest for a decent home in a desirable school district. In that respect alone, the Village couldn”t compete. As a longtime denizen and sympathetic drag queen put it to an expectant straight couple, my neighbors, who were leaving for the “burbs: “Mars ain”t the kind of place to raise a kid.”
(But what if you”re gay but not the marrying kind? Then, as Whittle points out, who needs the Steps or Sailors when you”ve got Grindr and Manhunt, and can cruise via smartphone?)
While childfree, I too was part of that exodus. When I”d moved into that Ghetto apartment, the one I”d fantasized about snagging for so long, I couldn”t imagine ever leaving. The day I did, for good, I walked to the Wellesley subway one last time without looking back, leaving my husband behind with the movers who were helping us decamp to our new, faraway condo.
Having a mortgage naturally means that money can be tight, but he and I treated ourselves to a weekend in New York a while back, our first ever visit.
On our way uptown to a comedy club, our cab driver provided taciturn, unsolicited tour guide tidbits. About ten minutes into the ride, I noticed an uptick in the number of dry cleaners, florists, and pet supply stores.
I nudged my husband.
“This must be Chelsea.”
The driver heard me.
“Yes, yes. Here gay. Many gay,” he put in.
But for how long?
