The unavoidable truths of lesbian dating


“She’s butch,” my newly single friend said, as if that explained everything.

“Right,” I nodded, because I thought it did.

“But.she.didn’t.make.the.first.move.” She spoke as if to a three-year-old, albeit one moonlighting as a psychotherapist.

“Right,” I said. “Because she’s butch.”

My friend sat back in her chair. “But, I thought that meant she would make the first move.”

I still claim my laugh was of the gentle, accepting variety.

“You sound like Ursula the Sea-witch,” she said. “What’s so funny?”

My friend isn’t some recently-out nineteen-year-old. She’s had her share of long term relationships; she’s been to the Michigan Women’s Festival, for Christ sake. If she doesn’t know this Basic Lesbian Truth, then what’s to become of all the 20-year-olds stumbling from bar to Okcupid profile, donning Hanes when they prefer Agent Provocateur; shocked when that chick who fronts like Don Draper morphs into Katie Holmes in bed?

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