I was on my way back from the post office this afternoon - not my favorite place, but I needed to mail something, and they do a better job than me throwing it out the window and hoping for the best - when I thought to myself, "That looks like Ted Allen." Oh, that's because it is Ted Allen. Squee!Probably because he practices a decidedly low-level brand of faggotry and a high level of withering disdain, I used to have a delightful crush on Ted Allen. And there he was on the corner of 23rd St and 7th Ave - right in front of the hot dog place. Make of that what you will.
This was sort of funny, only in that I had seen Clinton Kelly on the 1 train on my way to work a few months ago. I also adore Clinton Kelly, despite the fact that the American version of "What Not To Wear" is a crime against popular culture. And, really, it's just wrong because that man is something like 6'4" and looks as though could bench press me. Must you mock me, fates? Wither the tremendously sturdy straight men?
Although, to be honest, neither Clinton nor Ted can be my true gay boyfriend - my heart already belongs to Andrew, the manager of my local Chipotle. He is faaabulous and gives me free burritos, evidently just for showing up. Unless he thinks I'm packing something that I'm not, and that would be highly embarrassing for both of us.
2 comments:
I always found it suspect that Ted and Tom (and even Kyan, despite his name) were the queerest eyes they could get from the worlds of food, design, and hair care. I guess they had to balance out the supreme flame-osity of Kressly and the Other One.
Thanks for writing this.
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