Your story reminds me of my late husband Lenny and his theater-queen friends, who I recall with affection even though they could sure be snippy and surly sometimes over their favorite divas.

Oh, the finger snapping and dramatic exclamations! But I seem to recall everyone always parting as friends, apparently content to have once again taken part in a bonding ritual that seemed to require friction.

Lenny was a NYC accountant, and only some of his friends actually worked in the theater world, but that world was so important to some gay men, particularly of a certain age. I guess Lenny's love of theater minutia dated back to before Stonewall — when theater talk was one of the ways to publicly talk about being gay without actually talking about being gay.

"Don't you just adore Cher," could act as code for, "I see you, queen."

I still smile to think about how comfortable and safe those conversations made people feel.

But I feel you! Because my reaction to hours of theater talk was often pretty intense boredom. And if things got snippy, my boredom could easily turn to frustration.

Thankfully, I knew a lot of Lenny's friends more deeply than just by occasionally tolerating their theater-queen antics.

I never developed a taste for that sort of passion, but I sometimes feel quite a happy nostalgia when I hear young people engaging in their updated version of it. I know they're seeking their tribe, their in-group, and I smile for them.