Valentine's Day is approaching, a reality that is almost as undesirable as the mid-winter weather. In an attempt to distract myself, I hosted a gathering of friends in my charming dorm room overlooking the glowing Harkness Tower and a snow-covered Cross Campus. A crew of underclassmen boys showed up, most of them involved in theatre, and all of them on the verge of coming out of the closet. At Yale, we refer to the abrupt transition from straight-to-gay as "The Sophomore Surprise."One of my many romantic shortcomings has been falling in love with gay men. They tend to be clean, witty, well-dressed, and, as my waiter described the venison stew last night, "lean and fun." I even hosted the dorm room fête in celebration of my favorite gay boy's recent admittance to graduate school in London. Accordingly, I bought him a box of Cadbury Fingers, the classic U.K. chocolate biscuits that are so dreadfully named. I suppose I should attend "Graduate Student Speed Dating" night, or go to the biweekly booze-and-romp fests at the sticky-floored, aptly named Toad's of New Haven. I suppose I'm not making great strides towards a happy Valentine's Day by staying in my dorm room with a box of Fingers and a crowd of adorable gay guys.
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