Being a lesbian means you’ve been marginalized by society and have to fight for things like children and rights. But no one ever talks about what’s hard about being a lesbian.
When a guy likes a girl he asks her to dinner or a movie and they hang out. We call this testing ground for compatibility “a date”.
When a girl likes a girl and she asks her out to dinner or a movie, we call this “a terrible dimension of ambiguity.”
I have a lot of gay girlfriends – the non-sexual kind -- the kind your mom says, “I’m having lunch with the girls” or “do any of your girlfriends baby sit?” I also have gay girlfriends that I’m interested in romantically – the kind your mom says, “Please don’t tell me that’s your girlfriend” or “do you any of your girlfriends not have psychological disorders?”
The problem for lesbians is that no one ever knows which category they’re in and everyone is too scared and intimidated to figure it out. This is why lesbians don’t date.
EVERY LESBIAN BUT ME.
Few will argue that a dinner between a man and woman getting to know each other can be considered a date. This date abides by pre-existing social norms – and by norms I don’t mean driving and door-holding. I mean, the guy wants to have sex with the girl.
However, when I pluck a girl out of the maelstrom of uncategorized “girlfriends” and ask her to dinner without indicating specifically that THIS IS A DATE, I’ve pulled the pin from a slow-release ambiguity grenade.
The dinner will go on with the expected chitchat and drinking, laughter and gossip. While I may go into this with a DATE mindset, for her, there is nothing to distinguish us from just being friends – because according to our social norms, girls have girlfriends, and girlfriends eat together. No biggie.
This is when I realize it’s time to do something crazy. It’s time for me to put myself out there and show her where I stand. It’s time for me to do something that says, “I want to do more with you than paint your fingernails.”
I pick up the bill.
This move generates one of two responses. A NON-RESPONSE, because she also thought this was a date. Or a plea to “Let me pay half” paired with visible panic racing through her eyes.
The former – this mythical non-response – has never actually happened, because, as I mentioned, lesbians don’t date. So in trying to single-handedly reconfigure my social stratosphere, I’ve marginalized myself in an already marginalized subculture. In my own panic, then, I reject the “let me pay half” offer out of pride, and what happens next is the girl will be very, if not awkwardly thankful, and hug me goodbye, and send me a “thanks again” text on my drive home, and never call me ever again.
And that, I suppose, is what makes Asian babies so appealing.