I Am Not a <*whisper*> lesbian

Now that my hair is short, I feel like I need to wear a t-shirt that reads, "I like boys." Society views women with short hair as, er, <*whisper*> lesbians, and I’m not. To show that I’m not, I’ve been trying to be as feminine as possible by wearing lots of skirts and dresses, jewelry and more makeup than I’ve ever worn in my life. Ok, so what if that only means wearing lipstick AND mascara, I’m slowly trying to get a message across! I am NOT a .. er… you know….<*lesbian*>. I also retired my ‘Eve was framed’ bumper sticker. That was a bit drastic, I know. But that shows feminism. And to many people, feminism = not liking boys. (Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay .. some of my best friends are gay) So that had to go. I try not to care what other people think, but I have no desire to get solicited by a woman. Ever.

So that brings me to my latest story about my neighbor. The woman who lives next door to me is a… well, you know. I haven’t confirmed that she is that way, but let’s just say she looks more thuggish than the drug dealers in The Wire, dressed in do-rags, sweatpants and wife beaters. We have a polite relationship, meaning we say a simple ‘hello’ in the mornings and occasionally run into each other in the parking lot. I don’t know her name, so I’ll refer to her as The Neighbor. Real original, huh?

I just finished tossing some whites in the dryer when The Neighbor entered our cramped laundry room the other day. There’s two washers, two dryers, and a huge sink in there, but little room for anything else. So I was already struggling when The Neighbor had to walk behind me. Instead of our normal greeting she said, ‘Hey girl’ and I said ‘hello.’ I thought about her words later when I was upstairs folding my clothes. Isn’t ‘hey girl’ a bit familiar? And did she say ‘hey girl’ or was it ‘heeyyyyyyyy, girl’? I mean, the former is reserved for close friends and the latter is something that the fellas scream at women on the street. Did The Neighbor think that my new hairstyle met that I was on her team? Was that greeting her way of welcoming me into the club?

An hour later, I prepared to go downstairs to get my clothes from the dryer. Then I realized I didn’t look appropriate. I had changed from my work clothes into my after work rags. Ordinarily that wouldn’t be a problem, but I need to send a message that I’m not a er, … well, you get the picture. So I changed back into my work gear – a skirt and top – applied more lipstick and raced downstairs.

Apparently, I was too late. The laundry room was empty when I got there and my clean clothes were sitting on top of the washing machine. Apparently, someone had to use the dryer and evicted my clothes once the cycle was done. I was peeved because this load consisted largely of my underwear, but hey, these things happen. I tossed my clothes into my laundry basket and left. Then it occurred to me, was it The Neighbor who evicted my clothes? Was she the one who touched my panties? I flipped through my clothes quickly and couldn’t find anything missing. But I was still unsettled. Now The Neighbor knows what kind of drawls I wear and the color of my bras. Heck, she even knows my bra size! What’ll she say when she sees me now? She’ll go from ‘hey girl’ to ‘how you doin’?’ with a Joey Tribbiani wink. Sigh.