I rocked up to the ‘leslie’ event (‘leslie’ is my preferred term for a lesbian because it sounds less formal and the word ‘lesbian’ conjures up images of hairy arms and lizards, don’t ask me why). Google strolled in shortly after. Her height, broad shoulders and confident athleticism drew glances. Being an out of town girl she didn’t know anyone, which tended to stress me (I was officially unsuccessful at baby-sitting during adolescence). Caring for fully grown lesbians presented a far more complicated problem. Most women arrive in organised gaggles but not Google, she came to see me and the weight of that was crushing my toes.
Nonetheless she purchased our beers and we engaged in courteous prattle.
After an hour I tested her vertebral column by pointing out rather formally “Whilst it’s been great chatting, I need to get back to ‘my people’, can you arrange someone else to talk to?” Right on the words ‘talk’ and ‘to’, I strategically raised my eyebrows to emphasise the fact that I was important and popular and no doubt being noticeably missed elsewhere. Her face changed from relaxed self-possession to shear fright. Clearly she wasn’t familiar with being knee capped by a commoner. Of course I was delighted to be the first.
I found her intriguing enough to hand over my Pink Sofa username before she left, this was almost certainly because I was ready to be stalked again.
To Be Continued..
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