Dear Gayby, You will most likely grow up in the U.S. because, as you know, your mother and I are gay.  And although we would like to live in Vietnam or soak up the natural sun-rays seeping into our adobe hut in Chad, we fear the governments there might bulldoze a house over us for our sapphic proclivities.  We could move to Europe because they are gay-lovin’ and we, in turn, love their clothes and club music, but we also fear that they would turn us into communists.  Since your mother and I like to think of ourselves as cowgirls – her a horsewhisperer with the powers to comfort and heal, me an urban cowgirl with a propensity for whiskey and occasionally riding a…