Nothing

I’m stuck terribly stuck this month because there’s much to write about that I don’t want to write about because these are things that I’ve been writing about,  about which much has been written and about which I really wish to say nothing more ever again.

When I say that I’m a bit tired of being called “princess” by a guy who’s flirting with me, a guy responds: oh he always calls everyone princess.   Well no actually he doesn’t call the guys princess; he doesn’t even call them prince.  When a guy passes by me and puts his hands on my shoulders and even though he isn’t being salacious, he is in part doing this because I’m a woman.  He doesn’t do this with men.

When  I wander aimlessly in a store, staff seem to have been instructed to sort out the genders of customers even though it’s not necessary to genderize to assist me to find an item.   There is an insistent persistence to genderize.  Yet, even though humanity has done this for some time, the length of practice hasn’t improved discernment.    At least half the time, I am called “sir”. I’d like to shout:  don’t call me “sir”! It’s a bit aggravating because I rather like being a woman.

Oh there seems to be the good old days when women wear skirts and men wear pants even though we all know there are many exceptions to these presumptions based on costuming even in the old days.  Even though one notes the exceptions and exemptions such as drag queens, geishas, Joan of Arc, Amazons – there have been whole eras when there is some confidence  in genderizing even though the necessity for doing so has never been clear. Apparently lesbian is not a category of gender.

It’s amazing how people inquire about being a lesbian while deftly avoiding having to say the word.  It’s almost as if people expect to be turned to stone if they use the word.  On the other hand there are those who use the word without comprehension, perhaps attempting to be kool without having response-ability to reality.  There’s the recurring use of “he/she/it is so gay” and the  emerging use of the phrase “honorary lesbian”.

The other day I’m asked:  when did I know.   (Note that lesbian is missing from the question.)  I am fifty-nine, out for three and a half decades; and it’s been a very long time since I’ve been asked that question.  As many times as I’ve been asked that question, I still don’t understand its relevance.  It’s really only relevant that I am and I know that I am a lesbian.

The more salient consideration for me is that I know and am so.  With so many signs, sign posts, instructions, propaganda, pictures, words, costumes, accessories constructed to establish gender and the roles thereby defined, I still manage to be my own woman and manage to discover that I’m lesbian.  When I come out there aren’t even many books on the subject;  Ellen de Generes isn’t born yet.

The other part of the conversation being deftly avoided is that the people who ask never once question the why of not being a lesbian.   They don’t ask; they don’t tell.  Sometimes I want to say, even though it may be deliciously impolite,  that it’s a lack of strong character on their parts and in their weakness they cave to the prevalent peer pressure.

I don’t.  I keep writing repetitiously snippits and tidbits here and there, suffer being called “sir”.  I still don’t cave to peer pressure.  I’m raised in the same kind of family found commonly in the country.  I go to the same schools, grow up eating hot dogs in white buns.  My beaded hospital baby bracelet is pink like other girl’s in the forties, I still grow up to be a lesbian who says that as many times as I have to even though it’s a word that gets stuck in the throat and often seems awkwardly said like it has way more syllables than it does.  The gender of the word lesbian is feminine.  No matter the gender roles, genderization isn’t working to keep some women stuck in place.