At no point is Ani DiFranco or softball mentioned in this post about lesbianismDecember 8, 2010
“So… is this an accurate portrait of lesbian relationships?” I say to Tina the Lesbian, who we now call T. Lesbian because of that stupid PSA between Bristol Palin and The Situation but not to her face.
“For the most part, yes…” T. Lesbian says with a heavy sigh. “The particulars change from couple to couple… sometimes it’s a dog instead of a cat… sometimes it’s a toaster oven rather than a juicer that almost causes a violent assault.”
“So, this is sort of like a filled-in Mad Lib of lesbianism,” I say. “But why do lesbians like IKEA so much?”
“I’m not sure, but Scandinavia and lesbianism seem to fit for reason I don’t understand,” says T. Lesbian.
“I know why,” I say. “Motherfucking vikings.”
“Sure, why not?” says T. Lesbian, conceding the point out of mental fatigue. “Vikings it is.”
“So do you have a grave for all the sex toys of your previous relationships?” I say.
“Actually all the lesbians in town dump them all down a deep hole out in the woods,” says T. Lesbian. “We call it the Grave of the Unknown Vibrator. It also doubles as a fertility shrine because the woodland creatures all gather near it and have sex. We think the smell from the Grave triggers them into heat.”
“And from the ashes of your failed Sapphic love, new life will rise in the forest,” I say. “Probably to get run over by a car while crossing the street, thus completing the circle of life.”
“And a new circle will begin as soon as I attend another street arts fair or NPR music festival,” says T. Lesbian. “I’ll find a lonely soul just standing around waiting for Ray LaMontagne or whoever else frequents World Cafe Live to take the stage and I’ll ask her to be my girlfriend. Then I’ll lay out the future turbulent times to come, she’ll say yes, and then I’ll end up losing a bunch of IKEA furniture and a random kitchen appliance months later.”
“And because you will have withdrawn from all your friends to focus on your seemingly-perfect woman-on-woman love, you’ll shoulder the pain of yet another savage break-up and burial of sex toys all by yourself,” I say. “But while you’ll eventually return to your previous social circle, you’ll never speak of these events to us, thus we will get the erroneous impression that gay women go into lesbian hibernation, which is like regular hibernation except with more flannel and finger-banging.”
“So… how do your relationships usually end?” T. Lesbian asks me.
“Awkwardly,” I say. “Very awkwardly. But I get to keep my juicer.”
T. Lesbian shakes her head. “Lucky heterosexual male son of a bitch…”