This is difficult for me to talk about. But as a red-blooded American and champion for traditional family values, I believe it is my duty. So here goes.

Marriage equality made my family gay. And it can happen to you.

It starts out innocently enough. One minute, your spouse and you are dutifully strumming each other’s sexy strings at your requisite bi-weekly, dimly-lit, missionary-style appointment between the sheets, and the next minute you hear your kids singing show tunes in their newly renovated, Nate-Berkus-inspired bedroom remodel whilst you fantasize about window shopping as Barbara Streisand croons from your vintage Hi-Fi.

The signs pointing to your inevitable and irreversible gayness aren’t as glaring as you’d imagined, but believe me, they’re there, people. They’re there.

Sure, there are the obvious threats to your family’s morally superior way of life. Take, for example, how once tolerance for unnatural sexual indulgences becomes government-sanctioned, every closeted homosexual within a 50 mile radius comes knocking at your door, trying to gay marry the family dog and the cat for good measure. As scary as that reality is, though, what’s even more terrifying is the slow descent into the fiery pit of sin that your family suffers once those abominations of Christ are welcomed into society’s embrace.

Just the other day, for instance, instead of watching Bill O’Reilly pontificate on the plight of White America, Bibles in hand, my husband and I found ourselves staring down a rerun of Will and Grace.

WILL AND GRACE.

We immediately retired to our separate bedrooms for an intense session of self-flagellation and recitation of The Lord’s Prayer, but the damage was already done. We both knew it.

And then a week or so later, I caught my youngest drawing rainbows on the back patio with sidewalk chalk — brightly colored, ungodly representations of Lucifer himself. Once I realized the implications of his behavior, I flung the sliding glass door open and began demanding he rework those loathsome things to resemble something more akin to St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, but it was too late. By the time he caught wind of my disapproval, he had already sashayed away, mumbling something about how “fabulous” they were under breath.

I wish I could tell you these were singular, isolated incidents, but I can’t. My family is on the path to eternal damnation one wayward lisp and smartly tailored outfit at a time with nothing but marriage equality to blame for it.

And thanks to our once great nation’s liberal agenda, yours is too.