🌈 12 Rainbow Shots Later

Royal Caribbean Cruise. Totally normal. Families, retirees, couples in matching polos. Nothing remotely gay about it—until two bears at the bar casually unfolded a Pride flag across their table like they were claiming territory on the Lido Deck.

And let me tell you: the queers flocked. I don’t know if it was instinct, pheromones, or just decades of trauma radar, but within half an hour there were twelve of us. Twelve bears. One table. On a cruise that did not sign up for this much chest hair.

The bartender, bless his confused little heart, asked what we wanted. Someone said, “Rainbow shots.” He blinked, shrugged, and got to work like he was auditioning for RuPaul’s Mixologist Race.

Twelve rainbow shots lined up in front of us. A liquid Pride parade, staged between buckets of Bud Light and some confused honeymooners from Ohio. We raised them high, clinked, and drank like we’d just won Stonewall 2.0 at sea.

The straights stared. The bears roared. The bartender made another round.

And just like that, the most aggressively heterosexual cruise at sea got a little queerer.

Moral of the story: You don’t need an official gay cruise. You just need a flag, some friends, and a bartender willing to pour vodka into ROYGBIV.

🌊🍹🐻

Do I consider myself a bear? Not really. But maybe—just maybe—this trip I’ll lean into it a bit. 🐻🍹