I should have known I couldn’t go to a sports bar without consequences.
I was there with my mother and grandmother, grabbing lunch on a football Saturday. The crowd was boisterous and the food was greasy — not my first choice, but not a bad option for a quick bite with the ladies.
Soon enough, my mimosa sped through my system and I needed to relieve myself — something I tend to dread as a gay man in public restrooms, particularly in masculine-leaning places like this one.