to learn to cook so she could attend lesbian potlucks.
She
would have to learn to like hummus. And learn how to pronounce it.
She
would have to get a cat.
Then,
in an act of fairness, her brain came up with reasons to become a lesbian.
Here were the reasons in no particular order:
She
would save a lot of money by not buying…
Pantyhose
Dresses
Make-up
Curlers
Razors
(She was uncertain whether lesbians shaved their legs and under their arms.
She hoped so.)
She
could share a wardrobe with Jordan.
Amy
knew she was being a little silly. Not all lesbians were exactly alike. She
had seen a couple of episodes of The L Word . She was pretty sure her
career wouldn't suffer and her mother – her father was long gone – would
eventually warm to the idea. Still… it was a pretty big step. Especially for
someone as clumsy in bed as she was. See prior banana peel story. However,
Jordan had woken up certain parts of her body that had been hibernating for the
past ten years. And like a bear crawling out of her cave after a long winter's
nap, Amy was ravenous.
She
wished somebody would write a guidebook. Lesbianism for Dummies. It
would make things a whole lot easier. Or maybe she should infiltrate the
periphery of lesbians. Study their culture, their mating habits, their sense
of humor (assuming they had one), their sense of style (assuming they had that
also). She could acquaint and acclimate herself to lesbians after careful
study. She could be the Diane Fossey of Lesbians.
Early
in the a.m. hours after zilch sleep, Amy decided to quit thinking with her
brain. She made a pledge with herself to leave her brain out of the equation
and let her heart and body do all the thinking.
The
next morning, her heart and body took a shower, bought a new, funky wardrobe,
and picked up her new car.
First
Kiss
Amy
parked her new Smart car right in front of the Portland Art Museum, marveling
over how it could fit anywhere. It was bright yellow and cute to boot. She
loved how it complimented her new Tardis-blue Converse high-top sneakers. She
had also followed Isabel’s gypsy advice and purchased a dozen do-rags to wear
while at work. She felt they gave her flair.
Amy
hurried up the museum steps, her mind blank, her heart pounding, her body
tingly. She was so deliriously happy at the prospect of spending the afternoon
with Jordan that she didn't even feel tired or sleepy; she felt exhilarated.
She
was barely inside the lobby when Jordan appeared in front of her. She was
wearing a pair of baggy plaid shorts (she had shaved legs, thank God) and a
plain white T-shirt. She had on sandals and her toenails were painted red.
She was adorable.
"I
hope I'm not late," Amy said for want of anything more original to say.
"C'mon,"
Jordan said, taking her by the hand and pulling her toward the escalator.
"What's
the rush?"
"No
rush. I just want you to see what I found."
Jordan
pulled her up the escalator, taking the steps two at a time, and down the wide
hallway. She pulled Amy into a room and stepped directly in front of her.
"Close your eyes.”
"We're
in a museum," Amy said, "I thought the whole idea was to see
things."
"You
will, you will, trust me. Close your eyes."
Amy
did as told. Jordan took her hands and slowly walked her forward. Then Jordan’shands were on Amy's shoulders and pressing
gently down. She whispered, "Sit."
Amy
sat. She felt Jordan sit beside her.
"Okay,
now you can open your eyes.”
Amy
opened her eyes. She saw a large painting, covering most of the wall. It was
whirls upon swirls of bright, thick paint. Bold strokes of every color
imaginable. A mass of writhing, curving, serpentine vividness.
"What
do you see?" Jordan asked.
Amy
looked at Jordan. "Is this a trick question?"
Jordan
shook her head. "No, not at all. I'm just wondering what you see."
Amy
looked back at the painting. She tilted her head to the right. "I
She
would have to learn to like hummus. And learn how to pronounce it.
She
would have to get a cat.
Then,
in an act of fairness, her brain came up with reasons to become a lesbian.
Here were the reasons in no particular order:
She
would save a lot of money by not buying…
Pantyhose
Dresses
Make-up
Curlers
Razors
(She was uncertain whether lesbians shaved their legs and under their arms.
She hoped so.)
She
could share a wardrobe with Jordan.
Amy
knew she was being a little silly. Not all lesbians were exactly alike. She
had seen a couple of episodes of The L Word . She was pretty sure her
career wouldn't suffer and her mother – her father was long gone – would
eventually warm to the idea. Still… it was a pretty big step. Especially for
someone as clumsy in bed as she was. See prior banana peel story. However,
Jordan had woken up certain parts of her body that had been hibernating for the
past ten years. And like a bear crawling out of her cave after a long winter's
nap, Amy was ravenous.
She
wished somebody would write a guidebook. Lesbianism for Dummies. It
would make things a whole lot easier. Or maybe she should infiltrate the
periphery of lesbians. Study their culture, their mating habits, their sense
of humor (assuming they had one), their sense of style (assuming they had that
also). She could acquaint and acclimate herself to lesbians after careful
study. She could be the Diane Fossey of Lesbians.
Early
in the a.m. hours after zilch sleep, Amy decided to quit thinking with her
brain. She made a pledge with herself to leave her brain out of the equation
and let her heart and body do all the thinking.
The
next morning, her heart and body took a shower, bought a new, funky wardrobe,
and picked up her new car.
First
Kiss
Amy
parked her new Smart car right in front of the Portland Art Museum, marveling
over how it could fit anywhere. It was bright yellow and cute to boot. She
loved how it complimented her new Tardis-blue Converse high-top sneakers. She
had also followed Isabel’s gypsy advice and purchased a dozen do-rags to wear
while at work. She felt they gave her flair.
Amy
hurried up the museum steps, her mind blank, her heart pounding, her body
tingly. She was so deliriously happy at the prospect of spending the afternoon
with Jordan that she didn't even feel tired or sleepy; she felt exhilarated.
She
was barely inside the lobby when Jordan appeared in front of her. She was
wearing a pair of baggy plaid shorts (she had shaved legs, thank God) and a
plain white T-shirt. She had on sandals and her toenails were painted red.
She was adorable.
"I
hope I'm not late," Amy said for want of anything more original to say.
"C'mon,"
Jordan said, taking her by the hand and pulling her toward the escalator.
"What's
the rush?"
"No
rush. I just want you to see what I found."
Jordan
pulled her up the escalator, taking the steps two at a time, and down the wide
hallway. She pulled Amy into a room and stepped directly in front of her.
"Close your eyes.”
"We're
in a museum," Amy said, "I thought the whole idea was to see
things."
"You
will, you will, trust me. Close your eyes."
Amy
did as told. Jordan took her hands and slowly walked her forward. Then Jordan’shands were on Amy's shoulders and pressing
gently down. She whispered, "Sit."
Amy
sat. She felt Jordan sit beside her.
"Okay,
now you can open your eyes.”
Amy
opened her eyes. She saw a large painting, covering most of the wall. It was
whirls upon swirls of bright, thick paint. Bold strokes of every color
imaginable. A mass of writhing, curving, serpentine vividness.
"What
do you see?" Jordan asked.
Amy
looked at Jordan. "Is this a trick question?"
Jordan
shook her head. "No, not at all. I'm just wondering what you see."
Amy
looked back at the painting. She tilted her head to the right. "I
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