I was an an awards banquet last night and sat at a table with a few midwives, doulas, and assistants.  One of the assistants is my own and I asked her if she’d contacted another about a day of coverage she wanted to trade for an upcoming birth.  She said she hadn’t, but wanted also to find out about covering December 13th.  I asked what was going on that day.

“I’m hosting the gays at my house.”

Huh?  I never took her for gay activism/advocacy since she is so busy with birth advocacy/activism and given she is from another country I took the statement for one of those occasional English as second language glitches.

“So, how’d you come to be involved in that?”, I asked.  She replied, “Well last year I was at the party and they were looking for somewhere to host it this year.  I was pretty passionate about it and I guess they remembered!”  I told her I hoped Proposition 8 went through so her party would be festive, not a downer of drunks.  She looked at me sort of blankly and smiled.  She said it was going to be an easy party, since they know all the customs.

WHAT?

Curiously I started, “I didn’t realize there were customs…”, imagining my demure assistant dressing like one of the Village People.  The DJ stopped the music at that moment for an announcement as she continued, “Oh yes, I hardly have to do a thing, they know all the Dane customs from back home.  The party runs itself!”

Dane.  Not gay.  Oops.  And then we cracked up.