Let's all just step back from the mouth of the volcano. Gay marriage may seem like a good idea now, but once it's here, we'll regret having asked for it. And then it will be too late to put the genie back into the bottle -- or, should we say, in honor of our Hawaiian brothers and sisters fighting for the right to marry in that state, too late to take the pig off the spit.

My opinion is not based on self-interest. On the contrary, marriage would be the greatest thing in the world for gay men like me. Not because I'm romantic or faithful or dying to trust my life to another person. Not even because I hate to drive, though I would kill for a husband who snores like a white whale but can handle a stick shift. It's because I'm cheap.

Being single is not cost-efficient. Single people buy healthy quantities of fruits and vegetables which then rot in our refrigerators. We spend hundreds of dollars a month on long-distance calls to dimly remembered friends because there's no one else to listen to us when we have a rotten day. And we breeze through video stores, unencumbered by second opinions, and pick out terrible movies that we forget we've already seen. For these and countless other reasons, getting married would save me a fortune.

But there's a hitch here, and I'm not talking about Jasper and Jethro setting up a cabin together. Same-gender marriage would devastate the QNP, otherwise known as the queer national product. And since the decline of homophobia seems to be directly proportionate to the rise of the gay dollar, rainbow weddings play right into the hands of Pat Buchanan -- even if he can't figure that out.

Think of all the gay-owned businesses that depend on our futile search for Mr. Right: dating services, phone-sex lines, bars, travel agencies, health clinics . . . A serious outbreak of matrimony would probably boost the unemployment rate in Greenwich Village to 30 percent. And money spent in pursuit of romance is more than matched by the spending that follows the traumatic failure of a long-term relationship (say, one that lasts two weeks).

In my experience, there are two stages to the post-breakup spending spree. The first is the who-gives-a-fuck stage. This is when I stuff myself at expensive restaurants and catch up on the cocktails I skipped when I wanted to look good for someone. I also enjoy evenings home alone -- after buying a few dozen CDs that capture my pain and anguish. After a week or so, I notice the hunks on some of the CD covers, and it's time to move on to the get-a-new-look stage. This is when I realize that it wasn't just a matter of bad judgment that I spent six months with a guy with a waxed-fruit fetish. My problem was that my bland appearance was sending out subtle mating signals to the loser element of our diverse community. The obvious solution is to assume a new identity. This is when the real spending begins. I begin by discarding the quaint notion that you can get a satisfactory haircut for under $50. "Make me unrecognizable," I tell a stylist in dreadlocks at the hair salon du jour. Ten minutes later, the part in my coif has been moved two millimeters to the right, and I'm ready to walk the streets.

I go to a gay bar with windows facing the street, and I put myself on display. It's time for wine by the glass and outrageous overtipping. Eventually, I'll catch myself in the bathroom mirror and realize my clothes suck. So it's off to the mall to buy a blue denim shirt and a pair of khakis that look so much better than the blue denim shirt and khakis I was wearing. (I think it's the buttons.) Then I take a taxi home. Why walk? I've got to save my strength for rejoining my gym the next day.

Money spent in 24 hours: $314. Who spends that much on an anniversary?

Add my post-rejection spending to that of the millions of other gay men in America, and you can see how monogamy would be a disaster for the economy (except in Utah). Sure, a few jobs would open up in the china-pattern consultation business, but look at what we'd lose. For every gay marriage counselor, two gay therapists would lose their jobs.

Straight people, at least, compensate for their short lives as singles by spending huge sums on tacky weddings. Unfortunately, the recent mass commitment ceremony in San Francisco raises the alarming specter that queers will take the cheap route. A total of 150 gay couples took their vows at one civil ceremony. If not for their newfound frugality, they could have provided work for 150 gay ministers, 150 florists, and 150 bands playing "Wind Beneath My Wings" or "These Boots Are Made for Walking."

I shudder to think of how marriage will change these couples. They'll put off trips to South Beach and Palm Springs so they can beef up their IRAs. They'll ignore the touring production of Sunset Boulevard so they can stay home and watch their wedding videos. They may even go nuclear and adopt kids -- delivering a crippling blow to the dog-breeding industry. We must nip these nuptials in the bud before Castro Street is lined with Baby Gaps and Chuck E. Cheeses. As single gay men, we may not be making each other happy, but at least we're keeping each other employed. Besides, as I grow older, I get a little bit worried about being left without a partner in the game of matrimonial musical chairs that might result from the Hawaii case. When I remember my spinster aunts who complain, "All the good ones are married or gay," it seems better to let a good thing alone.