Like a lot of guys of my age and class, you say "gay," I think "anal sex." You say, "lesbian," I think "chick with a mullet" or "porn movie."

Not nice. Just true. Truth's not nice a lot of the time.

So, this gay marriage thing, it's about what (shiver) those people do to each other. It's what they do in prison. In the showers.

You want a minister to bless that stuff?

C'mon.

Lemme tell you a story.

I'm married, to a woman, even though I live in Massachusetts. Gay marriage is legal in Massachusetts but it's not compulsory.

My wife does the grocery shopping in our family because she takes her mom with her so her mom can do her grocery shopping at the same time. I think three people on a grocery shopping trip is one too many, so I don't go. Besides, I got married three years ago, but I've been going to the same saloon every Friday night for 20 years. I'm always home in time to carry in the groceries, though, so it's not like I'm not doing my bit.

Last winter, I was sitting with my wife on a Tuesday night, and I saw a commercial for Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, the kind that comes in a blue box. In fact, many people call it "blue box macaroni and cheese."

"We never have that," I said to my wife.

"Well," she said, "it's really not very good for you, so I don't buy it."

"I love that stuff," I said. "I used to eat it all the time."

She went back to watching a television show about teenage vampires. I went back to looking through a cigar catalogue, trying to find bargains. Hey, she buys what's on sale at the grocery, so I buy on-sale cigars.

And, the very next Friday, I carried in the groceries and was putting them away in the kitchen cabinets when I spotted a blue box of macaroni and cheese in one of the bags.

"Hey," I said to my wife. "I thought this wasn't good for you."

"Yeah," she said, "but you told me you really liked it, so I got you some."

And she kissed me on the cheek.

My wife and I are both newspaper reporters, which means we spend a lot of time in our cars, driving between assignments.

When I'm out on assignment, if I stop in a 7-11 for a cup of coffee, I like to buy my wife a package of Hostess cupcakes, the chocolate ones with the white icing squiggle on top. My wife is a big fan of manufactured pastry, but she doesn't buy it much because she's worried about getting fat.

I like to get back to the newsroom before she does and leave the cupcakes on her desk, as a surprise.

And she comes back, and she finds the cupcakes, and she smiles.

"I shouldn't be eating these," she says. "My butt's getting too big."

"No, it's not," I say. "I could throw you over a fence. Just eat 'em."

"Well," she says, "I'll just get a cup of coffee to go with these."

And that's why I can't be against gay marriage. I don't have the heart to tell anybody they can't have someone to bring them little treats.

And I think it's important that what gay people get is what we have, a marriage license, not some "civil union" piece of paper that's just one step above a fishing license. I bring cupcakes to my wife, not to my "civil union buddy."

I think if you live your life without someone to bring you macaroni and cheese or cupcakes, you might as well be living in a small cardboard box, all by yourself.

I don't have the heart to tell anyone they have to live that way.

To find out more about Marc Munroe Dion and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit www.creators.com.