As you know, I am a very polite and considerate young man, and - actually - I was unsure of the social etiquette of talking to lesbians. I mean, what do you say? Do you actively raise the subject of lesbianity, or do you just let it slide? Is it taboo, or do you treat it with a knowing wink as if to say - "Hey babe, I know you like the women and hey, so do I - we are mutual sailers through the curvy seas of femininity; it's cool, you don't have to worry about your dykish ways around ME". I just didn't know what to say, so set about creating an analogy to describe my feelings. I suppose it boils down to two options - do you treat the lesbian like she's just got a new tattoo, or like she has an obvious and disgusting deformity? Let me explain.
If you met a girl with a huge tattoo on the side of her neck (perhaps it's a lesbian; many lesbians do have tattoos; I think it's part of the hormonal makeup), you would assume that she wants you to comment on it - after all, she wouldn't go out and get the tattoo just to entertain herself - she wants to get people talking about it. Thus any passer-by would be expected to say "Oh hey, shit, what's that thing on your neck? It looks like a rose! That's awesome." That would be socially acceptable.
However, if someone, say, had some illness that manifested itself with a huge red oozing skin lesion (say, the Black Death; many lesbians do have the Black Death; I think it's part of their hormonal makeup), I reckon that it'd be the height of rudeness to say the same thing. And the thing about people with tumours is that they often have superpowers due to their prior contact with nuclear waste. These superpowers can manifest themselves in the ability to jump over tall buildings, laser breath, and spikes, and if they take offense at your careless cussery of their illness they will take you down. This just goes to show - you can never be too careful with lesbians and the language you use to talk about their lezzic antics.
This reasoning, coupled with my uncertainty as to whether this particular specimin had come out of the cupboard or whatever it is those homosexuals do, led me to decide to not broach the whole lesbian subject at all. Plus, she looked like one of those angry lesbians that I have read about in The National Enquirer. Better to just not mention the subject and to let sleeping dogs lie.
Not that I'm saying she was a dog. As lesbians go - and my knowledge of lesbians is pretty much limited to two ladies I saw holding hands on the street once - she was a fairly atypical subject. I mean, she wasn't wearing one of those little tin hats that all lesbians have to wear - you know, the ones with the pink flags and the propellors on top. Neither was she sporting hiking boots and reading a book by Germaine Greer. I mean, she didn't even have a tattoo on the back of her ear to highlight her availability to other lesbians. For a second I was confused, disturbed even. If I hadn't been specifically informed of her swinging tendencies by a third party, I would not have a clue as to her abnormality. Had the National Geographic lied to me? For if this relatively normal-looking person was as bent as a roundabout, who else was secretly enjoying the company of other women? Luckily, my girlfriend is not allergic to cheese, so that scientifically rules her out, but when I think about all the other females I know who could be filthy raving gays... it makes me shiver.
I decided that I had to talk to her, just to see if there was anything obviously different between her and other girls. Maybe she lisped or mispronounced her rhotic r sounds or clicked her tongue after every sentence or something. I just had to know.
Of course, I had to mentally prepare myself for the controntation. Firstly, I glued a fake moustache on my face, just to stop her from thinking that I was a woman and thus trying to have sex with me in a fit of uncontrollable lust (this happened to my friend Hilary... he never walked again). Having decided not to mention the whole lesbian thing I then thought up a few good lesbian conversation topics:
Once this was done, I had a few drinks to get my courage up, then sidled up. I can't exactly remember the specifics of the conversation, but it went kind of along these lines.
Me: Hi there! *Give a knowing wink*
Her: Hello.
My Mind: Ok, going well, haven't brought up the lesbian thing yet. Nice work, Tom.
Me: So... wassup? Done anything fun today?
Her: Not really.
Me: Oh, that's a lesbian.
My Mind: Shame. Shame. Shame. I meant to say shame. Did I just say lesbian?
Her: What?
My Mind: Abort. Abort. Abort.
Me: Well, I have to be off. See you les- later.
*I run*
Smooth.
So what did I learn from the whole experience? Absolutely nothing, except that lesbians smell faintly like clocks. Remember that, children - if you smell clocks, fall to the floor and adopt the foetal position until the lesbian goes away.
The More You Know!
By the way, if you think that you are the lesbian featured in this post, you aren't.
(Fun Fact: the preceding post is 1043 words long. The word 'lesbian' is featured 23 times. This means that for a post devoted to lesbians, they only take up 0.0220517737% of the actual content. The more you know!)
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