I bought my house about a year ago and I’ve learned quite a bit about being a homeowner in that time: relighting the pilot light, programming the thermostat, avoiding paying for garbage collection, etc. Another thing I’ve learned is that my 80-something year old neighbors Harry and Marcy (names have not been changed because they’re f***ing 80 years old and don’t know what the internet is) are convinced that I’m gay. If you’re ever wondering if your neighbors think you’re gay, here’s a checklist you can follow along with.

If every time you see them, you’re doing something gardening related, your neighbors think you’re gay.

True story. When I bought the place, there were window boxes on the front porch that were rotting away. Being the manly man I am, I built some new ones and while hanging them up, Marcy strolled up and started talking to me about whether I was going to plant mums or day lilies in my new flower boxes. On at least two other occasions, I’ve been approached while weeding the garden or watering plants. Yeah, she thinks I’m a pole smoker.

If they say to you, “You’re not married, right?”, your neighbor thinks you’re gay.

Look, lady. I’m well aware of my powers to repel the opposite sex. I’ve been dealing with it for 30 years. I don’t need you pointing out how no woman would be caught dead in my erogenous zone.

If your 80 year old female neighbor, while petting your extremely excited puppy, says “I know you’re excited. You don’t get to see many women, do you?!”, your neighbors think you’re gay.

This was the nail in the coffin for me. I mean, seriously? I just stood there stunned.

I’m really looking forward to that point in my life when a switch is flipped, making it socially acceptable to be blatantly ignorant and rude. It must be great being old and clueless. This is probably the same switch that tells your brain it’s cool to tuck your polo shirt in to your pleated shorts that are pulled up to your nips, while your knee-high socks block the world from the pasty whiteness of your wrinkly toothpick legs.

Sorry for the tangent. Back on track now.

While writing this, I just realized something that won’t help my I’m-not-gay case with my neighbor. My girlfriend drives a Jetta, so that’ll soon be taking up space in my driveway. We talked on the air last week about how Jetta’s are notorious girl/gay guy cars. Bummer for this guy. Has something like this ever happened to you before (of course not!)? Post your comments below or send them to me at steve@freebeerandhotwings.com. Best responses get a one year membership to the Jelly of the Month club.