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Soap Up

While on the elliptical machine at the gym yesterday afternoon, I noticed that the offerings on the bank of televisions far in front of me included a soap opera.

I couldn't hear the show or read the captions, but this is what seemed to happen:  As a straight couple, about to be married, stood in front of seated guests, a middle-aged man in a designer outfit made a grand, self-absorbed entrance. He, apparently, was to marry a man in a subdued tux who also stood in front of the guests. A woman, presumably having been jilted by one of the gay men, rose from her seat to object, but wound up giving her blessing. Then everything calmed down—until a drag queen crashed, and made what must've been an accusatory speech full of revelations, judging by the guilty look on the face of the gay fashion plate. The drag queen finished stealing the spotlight by handing her purse to someone to hold, namely the completely ignored bride-to-be.

It feels like just yesterday that a single same-sex kiss on a soap opera was national news. I have no idea when soaps turned into "La Cage aux Folles."