Buster
I’ve got a dog, a bulldog in the tradition of the Grant bulldogs, his name is Buster, but you guys all know that.
Ben and I don’t live together, but Ben does live just around the corner, he bought a new house in Carlton recently, with the prices being down, and all. So, our houses are only streets apart.
We’ve been to family weddings as a couple. Most people are surprised with Ben, but not me it would seem. They were all surprised when we joined in the games of cricket, on Sunday afternoons at their family lunches.
“You guys are… um… pretty blokey,” remarked cousin Dominic. Dominic always comments, he seems to be endlessly fascinated. “You know, for…”
“Not really,” I said. “Gay guys are mostly pretty blokey.
“Don’t believe the stereotypes,” said Ben.
Of course, I couldn’t hit the ball to save myself when it came my turn to bat and I was bowled out on the first ball. I’m not a bad fielder, though, I can run, and I can catch, well, some of the time, easy catches.
“Not so good at cricket, though,” chimed in cousin Nathaniel. Not so blokey after all, perhaps, was the clear inference.
We take Buster to these family gatherings, and where my charm may fall short, Buster’s way with people never fails. Everybody loves Buster.
When one of the cousins, young Nick, didn’t know what type of bulldog Buster was, I made a joke about him being an Italian bulldog, telling Nick Buster responded to Ciao Buster, it stuck, and that is how everybody greets Buster now a days. Ciao Buster. (It came from an English Bulldog I met in Florence that used to sit outside its owner’s shop and everybody who walked past used to say ciao Buster to him)
Ben and I don’t live together, but Ben does live just around the corner, he bought a new house in Carlton recently, with the prices being down, and all. So, our houses are only streets apart.
We’ve been to family weddings as a couple. Most people are surprised with Ben, but not me it would seem. They were all surprised when we joined in the games of cricket, on Sunday afternoons at their family lunches.
“You guys are… um… pretty blokey,” remarked cousin Dominic. Dominic always comments, he seems to be endlessly fascinated. “You know, for…”
“Not really,” I said. “Gay guys are mostly pretty blokey.
“Don’t believe the stereotypes,” said Ben.
Of course, I couldn’t hit the ball to save myself when it came my turn to bat and I was bowled out on the first ball. I’m not a bad fielder, though, I can run, and I can catch, well, some of the time, easy catches.
“Not so good at cricket, though,” chimed in cousin Nathaniel. Not so blokey after all, perhaps, was the clear inference.
We take Buster to these family gatherings, and where my charm may fall short, Buster’s way with people never fails. Everybody loves Buster.
When one of the cousins, young Nick, didn’t know what type of bulldog Buster was, I made a joke about him being an Italian bulldog, telling Nick Buster responded to Ciao Buster, it stuck, and that is how everybody greets Buster now a days. Ciao Buster. (It came from an English Bulldog I met in Florence that used to sit outside its owner’s shop and everybody who walked past used to say ciao Buster to him)
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