The Big Boss is one, the head of technical writing services is another, as are most of her team. I’m talking about sexual deviants. You know, poofs and dykes.

Although I already have my own personal faghag in the office, no one else 'knew' about me in the office until Sunday when I bumped into the big boss at the Amstel Tavern. He didn’t seem surprised to see me there but if he did wonder if I was a fellow deviant on my entering the place, I’m sure it didn’t take him long to be sure of my credentials as a card-carrying poof. It was one of those nights where the last few hours of it no longer exist. I even lost an item of clothing, my coat, à la 'my favourite jumper'.

I saw him today. He approached me with a huge grin on his face. My grin was probably of the sheepish variety. Apparently, I didn’t do anything too embarrassing although I was seen gyrating oddly. Standing up and on the dance floor, I hasten to add.

Unlike my jumper, my coat hadn’t been kidnapped by an undesirable. I retrieved it last night after my Dutch class.

I’ll probably discover a whole lot more of the fraternity when I attend the monthly GALA get-together at Café Rouge tomorrow evening. My faghag discovered its existence today and emailed me about it. Now I'm their newest member.

For an organisation that tries to be 'inclusive', even allowing hetties to become members, it doesn’t have such an inclusive name. Obviously, GLBTA doesn’t have quite the same ring to it as GALA does, but what about all the B’s and T’s in the organisation?