Road trip

W and I took the kids to Washington, D.C., this past weekend.

On the way, we spot a car with an HRC sticker on its rear bumper.  Upon passing, we look in through the passenger window.

W: Looks like a guy and a girl (said with a twinge of disappointment).

Me: Are you sure?

W: Oh.  Maybe not.

Me: You know, the best lesbians are those who get mistaken for guys.

W: So true (smiles and squeezes my hand).

This is me fishing for a compliment.  I am very insecure.  It is sad and pathetic.

I tell my therapist that I am “hyper-aware” (that is the actual word that I use) of all of my flaws and shortcomings.  She tells me this is good.

Earlier in the trip, a car with an HRC sticker sped up and passed us.  The guy in the passenger seat gestured excitedly and peered into our car.

“So obvious,” I said.

“Yeah, we’re never that obvious,” W said.

“I know.  We look but we don’t actually press our faces into the window,” I said.

A little later, we see a third blue and yellow sticker.  This one is mounted next to an oval encircling a capital letter L.

“I wonder if it stands for lesbian?” W asks.

W steps on the gas and we are able to see that the L stands for Lewes, Delaware.

We try to catch a glimpse of the mystery driver, but she disappears into the traffic ahead.

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