Wendy and I had a taste of young lesbians this past week. (For those whose minds tend to drift into the gutter, allow me to clarify: not a literal taste!)
Two women, both less than half my age but just over half of Wendy’s, accompanied us on our annual Indigo Girls concert outing. Their sexuality is not a secret, yet I choose to preserve their anonymity herein by referring to them as YoungLesbian1 and YoungLesbian2, apropos of Dr. Seuss’ Thing 1 and Thing 2. Yet calmer. And less destructive.
We’ve known YoungLesbian1 for years; YoungLesbian2 is her friend from college. Emphasis on friend. Just. Really. The concert was at Wolf Trap and we were sitting on the lawn with hundreds of others. As I scanned the crowd, I took note of a healthy sprinkling of heterosexuals. It was a nice mix with lesbians in the majority. Lesbians of all ages, shapes, sizes.
The specifics of one particular conversation are lost forever to the vast expanse of my memory that is no longer a memory. But I recall YoungLesbian2 saying to us, “Hey, we could grow up to be y’all one day!”
She didn’t look disgusted or apprehensive or anything! Yay?
Wendy and I were crowd watching, pointing out interesting audience members to each other.
“Hey, look over there. BlackTank is nibbling on BrownTank’s ear and BrownTank seems completely disinterested.”
“If you were nibbling on my ear like that, I’d be a puddle!”
“Yeah, you sure would.”
We looked at each other and smiled.
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