Comfortable Shoes

I need a man.
....like a fish needs a bicycle? Like a hole in my head?

I've been a dyke for almost all of my adult life. I dated men when I was younger, but it was more of an experiment than any real desire, I wanted to see what all of the fuss was about. I don't hate men, I like hanging out with them, as long as they don't do anything gross like scratch themselves, or spit. After I had satisfied my curiosity by dating a few men, I just sort of yawned and decided that gurls were more fun. It was a no-brainer really. Being a lesbian is so much more practical. You don't have to spend that much money on accessories and make-up. You don't have to spend hours on your hair or your nails. You can have as much sex as you want, without worrying about birth control. And you don't have to wear heels. The comfortable shoes alone, are a good enough reason to become a lesbian.

Of course when I was younger, I found that dating women was not completely without problems. Being intimate with someone who is just as needy, just as emotional as you are, can be pretty intense. When I was dating women, I found it difficult to deal with someone who was just as bitchy as I was. Often, I found myself slamming the door and walking out, saying something like, " Hey, there's only room enough in this relationship for one bitch, and that's me!! " But eventually, you meet someone who is compatible, or maybe just worth all the trouble, and so you figure out how to live with each other. The time you save on the make-up and nails is mostly spent trying to figure out how to avoid being bitchy and needy and emotional at the same time, but eventually you get it, and then you get to enjoy a lifetime in comfortable shoes with no unwanted pregnancies.

It's a great life. But of course no life is perfect, right?

This morning, I took the trash out back to the bin. My partner and I share that responsibility. I opened the lid and began to toss the bag inside. As I began my side-armed pitch, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a sort of motion inside the bin. It took a few fractions of a second for my caffeine starved brain cells to realize that the movement was actually hundreds of squirming white worms infesting my garbage cans. A few fractions of a second later, I came to the horrific conclusion that the little squirmy things were on the lid very near to my hand that was holding it open. The bag of trash landed on top of a huge mass of wormies, bouncing the disgusting creatures high into the air, while the lid slammed down, causing the ones on top to fly off in my direction.

I let out a blood-curdling shriek, which was very girly, and very un-lesbian.

So here is my current dilemma. If I were straight, I wouldn't be faced with the task tomorrow morning of hosing out the trash bin, and killing all the many wormie things. I would have a husband who would do it for me. Come to think of it, the husband would have been taking out the trash this morning and discovered the wormie things. I'm not sure that my husband would have screamed as loudly as I did, but he would probably have grunted and done something gross like spit, or scratch himself. But the husband would definitely be the one to eliminate the worms. In return, I would give birth to children, balance the checkbook, and occasionally perform some slightly unpleasant acts of marital intimacy. I would have to perpetually remind the husband not to spit or scratch himself, but like all men, he would do it anyway.

Not all men, I'm sure Bruce and Dave never spit.

In any case, it's not like I can go out and find a husband like... tonight. Tomorrow morning, I have a date with a hose and a garbage can. And I'm not sure that I'm up for the childbirth thing, my ovaries are pretty tired now anyway. So in the morning, I'll put on my comfortable shoes and begin the grim task, feeling better knowing that it's easier to perform the "man tasks" periodically, than to live with one full time.

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