I’m beginning to think that enduring inane questions from people you don’t know is indeed a sacred, lesbian rite of passage. I’d like to think that I could make millions by compiling them into a small book entitled, “101 things you’ve always wanted to ask a lesbian, but thought better of it because you know, deep down, they’re either deeply personal or totally inane.” If you do this before me, I will sue you for royalties.
Some questions are asked with a touch of genuine concern, and others in the hope of confirming the notion that lesbians are just titillating hotties, practicing on each other until the right man comes along. Here’s a not totally serious guide to how I handle the daily struggles of talking to people who have clearly never learned how to talk to gay ladies.
How come you’re a lesbian?
What do you mean, how come? Do we have to have an in depth nature vs. nurture discussion? I’m a lesbian because I like women and I’m not sexually attracted to men; I didn’t just think that the queue for lesbian genes looked shorter so I’d save myself some time.
But how do you do IT?
Gosh, if only you’d warned me that this was coming – I’d have fashioned you an informative diagram or at least brought some sock puppets for demonstration purposes.
I thought that normal people didn’t delve into the sex lives of total strangers. I’ve never really understood where people get off asking you precisely how you do the sex on someone. Can you imagine if I just casually leaned over to someone in the queue at the post office and asked them about their blow job technique?
When asked this question, I fluctuate between making up total rubbish about kitchen utensils, or simply replying, “Very fucking well, thanks,” throwing a knowing look and slinking away.
How do you know you’re gay if you’ve never slept with a man?
How do YOU know that you’re not a weird pervert if you’ve never slept with a panda?
How do you know you’re a lesbian if you haven’t slept with a(n) [insert nationality of question asker here] man?
Seriously? I wasn’t aware that we had to affirm our sexuality by sleeping with a representative from every country. This isn’t the Sapphic six nations, nor the Eurovision shag contest. I literally don’t know where to put my sagging jaw when I get asked this one.
Do you miss men/penises?
Swear to god… If I had a pound for every time I got asked if I missed sleeping with men, I would be able to buy Mila Kunis and afford her the lifestyle to which she is already no doubt accustomed.
Which one’s the man in your relationship?
Upon a quick anatomical assessment, we have deduced that neither one of us is a man. Which is just as well really, because we’re lesbians.
How did your parents take it?
If you’re asking me this because we’ve both been shipped off to an illegal reform camp, probably not so well.
Can I join in?
Are you a devastatingly attractive Angelina lookalike with curves in all the right places, intelligence beyond measure and an insatiable desire to please me in all aspects of my life? Then yes, of course. Hop right on!
Are you a sweaty, desperate club goer with a desperate need to tell your mates you shagged a lesbian for lad points? Astonishingly, I’ll pass.
Can you send me a photo of you two together?
Can I slam your fingers in my car door repeatedly?
Why do you hate men?
Because you keep asking for photographs.
So where are your dungarees then?
I left them at home. The same place you left your sense of originality.
Resposted with permission from Dattch, a social app for lesbians.