The Reluctant Honeymooners

I would like to clarify something for the people of New York: Nicole and I are not dating. We are very aware that we are related and she is definitely not my girlfriend. So please, stop asking us if we are together. This is a cheeky cousin’s getaway, stop making us feel so honeymooney.

Let me start with a small example: after a visit to the Museum of Modern Art - which was fantastic -  we popped over to one of the thousand Irish pubs in the city for lunch and a sneaky martini. As our waiter led us to our table he told us we were a very handsome couple. First of all, we are not a couple. Secondly, we are not handsome we are gorgeous. This was just a small mistake made by a friendly but presumptuous waiter. I can accept that. But the sheer frequency of which we were forced to define our relationship got exhausting very quickly and really made us feel like reluctant honeymooners.

On our last night in New York we went to a late-night Comedy Club in the Village. We were, quite rightly, concerned that we would be seated close to the front and be picked on mercilessly by the comedians. Luckily, we were seated behind a pair of twins, who were as expected extensively quizzed about their sexual habits and whether one could feel the other’s pain or pleasure. The twins helped us dodge a bullet there, but when we were waiting outside of the Comedy Cellar, a man tried to get me to buy Nicole a rose. I, as usual, explained that she is my cousin and he quickly responded, “Boy, I never look at my cousin like that. Unless y’all from Missouri then that’s OK.”

Who said matching Yankees outfits were couply?

Even when we went to the Yankees game we were supposedly giving off couple vibes. Maybe it was because I looked really butch in my baseball cap and Derek Jeter shirt. After the game, we popped over to a bar called the Dugout, where all the hard-core Yankees fans were hanging out for a post-game Bud Light. We were at the bar for less than a minute when a local sportsfan spotted our beauty and asked me if Nicole was my girlfriend. We clarified that she was my cousin and then had a quick chat about Crocodile Dundee, because that’s how New Yorkers relate to us folk from down under.  While Nicole is talking to this one guy, his friend leans over to me and says, “You better watch out for your cousin, he got out of prison yesterday. Yeah, he’s a paedophile.” I want to believe that he was joking but you always have to take paedophile threats seriously, so we moved to the other side of the bar. I may not be her boyfriend but I do still have to protect her by exerting my faux-masculinity. Usually that just involves putting on a deeper voice and sitting in the front seat of taxis. Although sometimes it can be a bit intimidating. 

So masc

We were wandering around Midtown and we were stopped by two guys handing out mix-tapes of some of their raps. I fell into the tourist trap and assumed it was actually a free CD but the guy started flattering me by calling me ‘Big Nate’ as he signed the CD and started asking for a little something for him. He then said, “Hey, Big Nate, is this your girl?” And once again, I had to explain that no, this was not my girl. He then whispered to Nicole, “Hey girl, you date black guys?” We ended up giving them 9 bucks for the CDs just so we could get away. 

On a side-note, I did get into a fair bit of trouble in New York due to my lack of knowledge about the hip-hop genre. On our first night I was wearing a Run DMC shirt and thought I was top-shit. We asked the security guard at Rockefeller Centre for directions to the observation deck and before he helped us he decided to quiz me about my supposed love of hip-hop. I tried to play along but Nicole ratted me out by saying, “He doesn’t even know who Run DMC is, he doesn’t even know what they sing.” The security guard was shocked, “How the hell you don’t know who Run DMC is? I suggest you don’t wear that shirt anymore until you go YouTube Run DMC. Hell, you need to go get changed right now. Go back to your hotel and change that shirt, coming in here not knowing who Run DMC is, pfft. What kind of music do you like anyway?”

Put on the spot, all I could think of was MC Hammer or the Moulin Rouge soundtrack. Instead, I told him weakly that I like all kinds of music, but yeah, I think hip hop is “cool.” Another tourist came up to ask for directions and I thought that this would deflect my struggle, but the guard said to him, “Just a minute, do you know who Run DMC is? This guy here is wearing a Run DMC shirt but he doesn’t know who Run DMC is. Unbelievable.” After a few more minutes of humiliation, he shook his head and gave us directions to the observation deck. As we left the building he was still shouting out for me to change my shirt. And then, on the way back to the hostel, a homeless man spotted my shirt and said, “Oh hey Run DMC, we gonna party tonight boy.” Luckily, Nicole didn’t rat me out that time. I haven’t worn the shirt since but I did Wikipedia them as soon as possible.

The troublesome shirt

We were staying at the YMCA, because we heard that it was fun to stay there, and the staff also had their suspicions about our relationship. We were required to flash our key-card to security whenever we entered the building. Usually we would just have one person flash the card for both of us. But one night, the security guard made Nicole dig around in her handbag to show him her card to prove that I wasn’t trying to sneak a girl up into my room. Who would’ve thought the YMCA would be so anal – and not in the Village People sense.

Even the psychic we saw on 46^th Street took a while to figure us out, and you’d think she would at least see the cousin revelation coming. However, I don’t really give her that much credit because her first piece of advice for me was to join the family business. Hands up who can picture me as a builder. Yeah, I didn’t think so.

I mean, maybe we encourage the misconception with the way we take constant couples shots. Perhaps we shouldn’t have taken a romantic carousel ride together in the middle of Central Park. Maybe we shouldn’t have been seen canoodling on the top of Rockefeller Centre?

Fountain frolicking is a regular cousin activity

Horsey, you scared me

However, the honeymoon vibe forced upon us seemed to disappear as soon as we entered the theatre district and I was reunited with my people. In between matinee and evening Broadway shows, we had dinner at Ellen’s Stardust Diner, which was a great restaurant with singing waiters. There, no one assumed that we were dating. We entered the restaurant and our waitress was singing ‘Popular’ as we sat down, and we immediately began to sing-a-long. When she was done, she gave us menus and said to me, “Let me know if you or your clearly platonic friend or relative needs anything.” Ah the theatre crowd just gets me.

The audience of Andrew Rannell’s opening night of Hedwig and the Angry Inch didn’t even blink at Nicole and I. The show is about an East Berlin born transsexual punk rocker played by a male actor who is now married to a Croatian drag queen played by a female actor – so yeah, they could grasp our situation quite easily. This also gave us the freedom to unabashedly flirt with Andrew at the stage door. As he signed our playbills he gave me a wink and I turned a bright shade of Kinky Boots red. Meanwhile, Nicole also gushed at him and rubbed his arm a bit too thoroughly. How pathetic; two cousins fighting over the same unattainable Broadway star. Regardless he must’ve enjoyed the attention as he was more than happy to pose for a blurry photo with us.

The photo is blurry because I was too nervous

Thanks for hosting us New York, you have been incredible. But in the future, if you are going to just assume that we are on our honeymoon or a romantic couple’s retreat, at least swing us a free hotel upgrade. Now, we have arrived in San Francisco, where I don't think we will be encountering the same problem.