This is one of the most tragic and pitiable things I've read in awhile.
Not because I don't believe sexuality is fluid, at least for some people; I do. I've no complaint about the premise. It's the intolerable sneer born of thinly-veiled self-loathing that makes me cringe. And the objectification of women as baby-making machines. And the regard for potential children as things to be possessed. And the tiresome stereotypes, which almost certainly would be justified by a grim explanation about how in reality there are really people like that, for realz!
Saddest of all is the fact that Mr. Muirhead never seems to have considered the possibility that the object of his envious gaze, the strong-handed father of the fair-haired boy, was himself a gay man.
[H/T to Shaker Melusin.]
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