Death of Wands
“Do you want heteros? Because this is how you get heteros!” The Gypsy woman screams at me. She sounds like Cheryl Tunt from Archer but looks like Mallory after a few too many cocktails and without makeup. There’s no reason for her to be screaming at me, all I did was pass by her tent.
Her crystal ball is filled with smoke. It intrigues me. What will it tell me? That Target had a great sale on Halloween decorations, which makes sense, after all, it is almost Thanksgiving.
Why was there a fair this late in the year? Because there was. Deal with it, Karen. No one asks why your haircut was the power lesbian cut when Rosie was still on TV and nice.
Curious, I follow her into the tent. She promises to tell me who my soulmate is. Clearly, I already know the answer to that. I’m just waiting for Ben Platt to recognize me as his future husband. Or that I’m even alive. For a soulmate, he is very rude not to acknowledge that.
“You know him already…” she tells me, scraggy finger running over the card. It’s the Emperor. Maybe it’s Prince William? She pulls another card, the Death card.
Most people freak out over death being drawn. But I’ve done enough tarot readings to know that it just means change. “He’s in the middle of a transformation. He wants you as much as you want him, but give him time.”
I’m not really listening to her. I’m imagining my kids with Ben. Maybe we’d have 2, a boy and a girl. Though I’d take to the bed when they inevitably came to us and told us they were straight. Where did I go wrong? I’d never turn them out but could I really deal with them being so…. normal? Ben would assure me that I was a good father and did nothing wrong.
“Are you listening to me?” The Gypsy croaks at me. I assured her that I was and talked about the death card. Except she had flipped 3 more cards. She was so boring that I had made up an entire future on my head. “Don’t you want to know about the man you’re going to marry?”
“Is he rich? I need him to be rich. Being poor sucks. People say money doesn’t buy happiness but they’re idiots.” Ben is rich. So is Jake Gyllenhaal. The bonus with Jake is that I’ve fantasized about him for longer than I admit to being alive.
Jake would sweep me off my feet. Like one of those guys on a romance novel cover. He would hold me close to his chest as he croaked out a love song, probably “Your Song” from Elton John. That seems perfect for a queer power couple.
Ben wouldn’t like Jake and me spending time together. He’d take to the Broadway stage in order to win a Tony and declare his love for me, in a very public way. But Jake would also be up for an award that night and he would also want to use that time to lavish praise on me.
Did I just gay up the Tony Awards? Well someone had to. They were starting to feel very straight. Neil Patrick Harris hasn’t hosted since How I Met Your Mother ended and that’s just a crime. And his lack of hosting duties sucks too. Bad joke? HIMYM fans feel my pain. No one likes that finale, it made no damn sense. Kind of like my future.
“Do you even want to know what’s happening with your love life?” Once again I assure her that I do. Really, I just want to get back to Ben and Jake fighting over me. It has me excited in ways that only Magic Mike used to excite me. Maybe I could convince them to join together in their love for me.
That’s right, I was gonna go for what most men want. Two people to massage my aching shoulders and bring me tequila drinks. What were you thinking perverts?!
“He’s going to marry someone else before he realizes he loves you,” The Gypsy croaked out. Wtf. No, my husband will not have been married before me. That’s like eating pizza that someone else already ate. Sure, it’s good but it’s also nasty.
“She’ll realize that he loves another and leave him. Then you two will be together.” This bitch has lost her fictional mind.
I tried to slide back into my fantasy but Jake and Ben were making out. It wasn’t as hot as it sounds.
When I came to, I was on the sidewalks of New York. I asked about the Gypsy and the police took me into custody until I sobered up.
There was a hot cop though. I shot him a smile, he returned it to me. He’s not Ben Platt but his name is Jake….
Credit for the Prompt: