Pink Saturday

Because of an upcoming fever my last two or three weeks have been rather quiet. Boring? Well, in a way. Work, eating, sleeping and back to work again. Yesterday was my first day of renewed health and this seemed reason enough to have a little celebration. In the end the day became pretty gay.

It all started with the desire and need to buy some new clothes. With summer kicking in temperatures get too comfortable to be dressed up in shirts and jerseys every day and moreover there’s the need to look nice for Madrid’s female population. Before summer comes spring, and stuff. And there’s money burning on my bank account. So I met up with Sarah in Fuencarrel, the city’s best shopping street in the heart of the gay neighbourhood Chueca.

After some hours we both had succeeded and were both hungry, so with our bags we headed to eat crepes near Plaza España. Shopping and crepes just seems right. On our way we passed a cinema and decided to go and see Sweeney Todd. Johnny Depp and shopping and crepes just seemed right. So with our stomach full and our shopping bags and StarBucks take-aways we sat down to try to sing along with this bloody costume musical.

After the movie I went home and just as I stepped in my housemate was about to step out down to Chueca again and I stopped him to put on my new clothes and join him. Chueca at night is even more gay and at least twice the fun. All looking sharp in my new clothes and with my newfound health I was pleasantly surprised by the number of good-looking girls in the bar we visited, only to be unpleasantly disappointed to find out they were all lesbians.

When the bar closed we headed down to Cool, the coolest gay club in town. I’ve seen my share of gay clubs in my life and usually they’re innocent fun, but Cool pretty soon lived up to what uninformed people expect from gay clubs. Men naked apart from leather bananas and gogo-dancers (girls) completely ignored even though their similar lack of clothes. When Britney Spears opened her throat the place turned upside-down like she was Madonna.

Around five the day had been gay enough for me and as the gogo-girls started to bore me and there wasn’t much more to pay attention to and the sweaty chests of muscled men started to annoy me and the gin tonics started to taste the way they look in black light, we went out. To save the day the girl who handed me my jacket wanted to take a photo of me and I decided to only dream about very masculine things. So far for this year’s pink Saturday. Back to normality in one day (and let’s hope my new clothes do the trick they’re bought for).