First-World Lesbian Problems

  • Sharing a wardrobe.
  • Having to explain to straight people that neither of you is the ‘man’ in the relationship.
  • Having to decide whether to chop off your hair and be recognized as a lesbian, or keep your hair long and be assumed straight.
  • Listening to one of your family members awkwardly refer to your partner as your ‘friend’ or ‘roommate’.
  • Having to converse with a work colleague who keeps casually mentioning Ellen Degeneres as a way of trying to tactfully decipher your sexuality.
  • Being asked by acquaintances, “Do you have a boyfriend?”
  • Knowing that the L Word character you like the most is not the same character you are most like.
  • Getting distracted by porn every time you Google anything remotely lesbian related.
  • Never knowing if it is yet safe to drop the word ‘she’ in, after continually using the gender-neutral term “my partner.”

  • PMS:  Pre-Menstrual Synchronisation.
  • Trying to slink out of a room when the discussion topic suddenly becomes “How do lesbians have sex?”
  • When saying “my girlfriend and I”, wondering if the person listening understands you mean partner and not a ‘girl friend’.
  • Consistently finding yourself attracted to the only straight girl at the gay bar.
  • Having to again listen to a man ask the disgustingly inevitable; “Can I watch?”
  • Wearing your girlfriend’s wedgie-inclined pair of underwear by mistake.
  • Deciding what your kids will call each of their mums to avoid confusion.
  • Trying to participate in a conversation with your straight friends about “that hot guy with the dimples.”
  • Australia’s biggest first-world problem: Tony Abbott.

The Sad Diaries Of A Single Girl

I crossed the line between being single and being desperate somewhere in my twenties.

I guess it can be traced back to the point when I began using my free time to Google ‘quotes about loneliness’.

See here some an excerpt from my life when I was a single lesbian living alone, (dignity not included):

So I asked a woman out on a date not being sure whether it is a date or not. (And also not being sure if she is straight or not.) I avoided using the term ‘hanging out’ when I asked (via text I might add, because I don’t have the balls) thinking that it would somehow make my intentions clearer. Clearly not.

I’m yet to even figure out what I would define as a date. I guess it is whether I like the person enough and if we are alone together and have planned it thusly. So far so good.

Don’t even ask me how I managed to ask this person to spend any amount of time with me voluntarily. I’m still not sure whether I have misjudged our fleeting eye contact and several passing greetings as something more than exactly that. I do have a tendency to mistake good customer service as a come-on. But she agreed to meet me; that’s the important thing.

My grasp of flirting consists mainly of smiling in a goofy fashion at all times in her presence. The description ‘not all there’ comes to mind when I lose sleep reliving these moments, thinking of things much wittier than what I said. God help any women out there who have shown any slight or accidental affection towards me.

In true nerdy form I have been getting my expectations up for something that has probably barely crossed her mind. Yes, I have tried on the clothes I will be wearing when I see her even though that won’t be for three days. I have even, in a painful display of optimism, changed my bed sheets. Not that I have any idea how to get a woman within three-hundred metres of my boudoir. And even if I got her there, I’m not confident I would know what to do. In fact, my actual reasoning that I have prepared my bed is just in case she has too much to drink and needs somewhere to sleep while I curl up in the corner under a throw rug. It’s my version of modern romance.

That right, ladies, get ready for a wild ride, because when it comes to lovers, I like to start with a first course of bumbling, awkward interactions followed by a progressive friendship of about two to three years. That’s how I roll, bitches.

Butch, Please: A Letter To My Future Monster-In-Law

A letter to my future mother-in-law

Dear Gracious Saint of the western suburbs,

Just checking in to see how things are going re: accepting my existence.

What’s been happenin’? Haven’t heard from you in a while since that time you graciously ushered me out of your house. I apologise btw, for being forthcoming with my sexual orientation (soz), I didn’t realise that when you interrogated me the polite thing to do would have been to remain deeply closeted. It wont happen again, I promise; especially now that you have explained how easy it can be to brainwash people like your daughter into wanting to have sex with a person of the same gender. Thanks for the heads up.

I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye after you slammed the door, but I did get your text message and wanted to say a big thank you. I think you might have had autocorrect on ’cause I’m not sure what a ‘slitty botch’ is, but I appreciated the sentiment all the same.

I assumed you must have been busy lately. It must be a lot to deal with having your own daughter selfishly decide to move out in her twenties. Kids can be so ungrateful, can’t they? They never think about how it will affect the parent. I mean, since she abandoned you she has left you with no other choice but to drive all the way to the shops now when you need to find someone to criticise. I can’t imagine how it must feel having your child go off the rails like that; learning to drive, getting a job and moving in with a partner. It’s inconceivable when one considers that she was raised by someone as well-mannered and respected as yourself. It’s almost laughable. (Laughing being the sounds that one makes when they are happy – jks.)

But anyway, what have you been up to? The last time I saw you you were talking about all this religious stuff you are into. Btw have you been to church yet? I never recall ever seeing you there when I drive past, which is a shame because you seemed to be really keen on it. Oh also, I was going to look up that thing you told me from the bible. You know, the part that God wrote? The part about dykes being she-devils? Turns out though, I don’t own a copy of the ol’ good book. I’d borrow your copy of it, but I didn’t remember seeing it anywhere at your place that time I stayed over and committed a carnal sin with your daughter.

Anyway, take care of yourself.
In the mean time, try not to socialise with too many homosexuals in case you become one. (You know what they’re like – LOL.)

Love ya.

From your favourite ‘slotty butch’