Ring, ring.
“Penelope’s Party Emporium. How may I help you?”
“Oh Hello. I am calling to arrange a Princess Party for a four year old.”
“Of course. No problem. What is your daughter’s name?”
“It’s for my son. His name is Conner.”
“You did say a Princess Party right?”
“Yes I did.”
“I don’t think we do the Princess Party for boys. We offer the Dinosaur Party, the Super Hero Party and the Jungle Safari themes for boys.”
“He has his heart set on a Princess Party. I’m not sure why it makes a difference to you. I pay the bill at the end regardless of the theme.”
“It’s more that we don’t want to set a precedence for that kind of behaviour. We have chosen our themes based on what most kids like. We're not here to rock the boat and make anyone feel uncomfortable.”
“For your information, the only one uncomfortable with this is YOU, and my kid is not 'most' kids. He is unique and beautiful, and deserves to choose his own party theme, whether it fits your standards or not. My son loves Princesses. He loves pink, and he'd rather play with dolls than play sports. If by ‘that kind of behaviour’ you are suggesting that it's gay, then I need to remind you that he is only four years old. Could it not just be that he likes pink? With over seven billion people in the world all wanting different things, it seems insane to limit our choices to gender stereotypes. And if it turns out that he is gay, I have every intension of celebrating and cherishing every aspect of who he is. So screw you and your narrow minded perspective on the world!”
Click.
Dial tone.
Sigh.
Everything I wish I had said to that bag on the phone.
Sally
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