"Bentley, I've A Feeling We're Not In WeHo Anymore"

"Oh, but we are my dad, we are... Just."

But was Bentley right? We were moving to a new apartment building at the very edge of the WeHo/Los Angeles border. After years of living in the centers of gaydom (Dupont Circle and then West Hollywood), would I be outcast, left to get fat, ugly and... well, less gay.

I began to get a little concerned when I realised we were on the cusp. A Google Map search of the new address came up as "Los Angeles." WeHo's Preferential Parking Districts map was of no use. The sweat started to pour from my brow. Who would know? Who could I call? So, trembling, I went directly to the source and dialed the city hotline.

"Is 1427 North Laurel in West Hollywood?"

I could barely the get the words out. There was silence. In the background I could hear the operator clicking away, searching (in vain I was sure) for the address.

"Sir..."

I inhaled. Holding my breath and clenching my buttocks, I was ready for the bad news.

"It is West Hollywood!"

With joyous exoberation I punched the air. Slamming down the phone I emailed Mike: It is West Hollywood! It is West Hollywood! It's OK! It's OK!

My Bentley was right! Just! Had the new building been just one building north, I would now be residing in Los Angeles and they would have taken away my gay card. Oh, how I would slept better that night!

[By the way, yes, my dog and I do talk to one another. We have long philosophical discussions on the best bones, places to pee, and the art of hunting squirrels. And for an eleven-month old you should hear the dirty words that come out of his little mouth. Appalling!]