So, what have we learned from these last two posts?
No. 1: Middle-age butch has trouble with letting go.
No. 2: Never glitter a butch.
No. 3: Or you will never hear the end of it.
No. 4: For realz.
And now for all you math geeks: According to our poll, 38 percent of you said it’s best to never ever glitter a butch. I’m guessing the femmes out there agreed that butches are magical creatures. That captured 31 percent of the vote. Three of you, or 23 percent, suggested, butch or no butch, never let glitter get the best of you because it’s just glitter. And one of you indicated that butches are big whiny crybabies.
So, yeah, never glitter a butch.
And here are some more things you shouldn’t do:
* Tell her that her tie is pretty.
* Buy her a drink that comes with a side of fruit and an umbrella like a Malibu Bay Breeze.
* Ask her if she is growing out her hair.
* Ask her to hold your purse.
* Try to hold a conversation with her while she’s watching the game.
* Ask her if her name is short for something else.
* Tell her she would look better with a little foundation and blush.
One Saturday, a butch went to a May Day celebration held on a small farm in rural Pennsylvania. The event was actually called the “Faerie Festival,” and many attendees came in costume.
The butch went because it was supposed to be a nice spring day, and she wanted to spend time with her girlfriend. Her girlfriend was a babe. Plus, they always had really good black bean quesadillas and lemons with peppermint stick straws, which made the butch smile.
While they were waiting in line to enter the festival, the butch spotted elves with pointy rubber ears and faeries with wings made from wire and panty hose. There were knights in chainmail and ladies in waiting in long velvet gowns. The green men covered themselves with leaves and mud and sticks. The garden gnomes carried small plastic watering cans and wore tall pointy hats fashioned from sheets of red felt.
The butch wore jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers.
Soon after she entered the festival, the butch was jumped by a pair of elves, a rogue troll with bright green horns and three faeries. The butch was strong but there were too many of them.
The faeries threw something in her direction that caught the light as it floated down on her like snow.
“We thought you could use some faerie dust,” one of the elves said.
“Yeah,” the other elf said. “You’re so plain. No wings, no horns, no sparkle, no nothing.”
The fairies laughed in their high-pitched faerie voices.
“What are you supposed to be?” the troll asked. “A person? Ha!”
The butch stood up and tried to brush the sparkles from clothes and hair. But, as glitter does, it clung to her shirt and her face and her hair.
The glitter took the butch back to the 70s and reminded her of the pink and yellow T-shirts in the girls’ department emblazoned with decals of unicorns and rainbows and that damn “Thank God It’s Friday” cat. She thought about glittery nail polish that sparkled as bright as the night sky and Bonnie Bell lip gloss that smelled like extra ripe strawberries and left an iridescent glow. She thought about My Little Pony, Barbie in a silver sequined ball gown, a girl’s bicycle with shiny streamers erupting from the handlebars like fireworks frozen in plastic.
Even as a child, the butch preferred sports jerseys with their boxy cut and primary colors. And eyeblack that she wore like war paint on game days.
The butch pushed the troll because he was standing in her way.
“Hey, you don’t have to get so angry,” he said. “It’s just dime-store glitter.”
W and I get into a bit of a disagreement yesterday.
We were at a May Day festival known as a the “Faerie Festival” when she sprinkled a pinch of faerie dust on my forehead.
She was just joking around. It was one of those when in Rome things.
And this butch blew things out of proportion with having some glitter tossed in her direction.
I told W that I think of glitter and sparkly things as feminine.
She was like chill, dude, it’s just faerie dust. It doesn’t have a gender.
Which got me thinking about objects and gender. For sure, things don’t have genders.
But in my mind, certain things do:
The color pink (female — except on something very masculine like a necktie)
Purses (female — c’mon, they’re like vaginas with a strap)
Man purses (still female)
The word “pretty” (female)
I don’t know if it’s because I was told growing up that there are boy things and girl things. My brother was a boy so he mowed the grass. I cooked dinner. Drum lessons were for boys so I ended up playing the flute. There is nothing sadder than a butch lesbian playing the flute when she yearns to play the drums.
In my list, I had intended on including female and male things. I see I only listed those items that I associate with femininity and find unappealing.
I wonder if it is overcompensation for not being able to be me for so many years. A rebellion of some sort that came 30-some years too late.
* * *
What about you? Do you think of things in boy/girl terms?