Going Lesbian

So, I love guys. A lot. Mostly what I like about them is their guy-ish-ness–stubble and arms and tallness and that guy smell that is so delish. But sometimes, I think it would be so much easier to be a lesbian.

I mean, I know it wouldn’t, in the civil rights/getting married/telling Mom sense, but seriously, sometimes it just seems like guys and girls don’t go together.

Take lingerie, for instance. Women wear it for men, but every guy I’ve been with has expressed appreciation before promptly ripping it off a second later. Which is nice, but still, maybe they could actually just look at it for a second before it gets tossed on the floor. And whenever I asked why, the guy responded, “Well, ’cause I like you best naked.” Le sigh. I feel like another girl would appreciate all the pretty bows and thigh-highs a little more.

Also, as far as touchy-feely bullshit goes, I bet that’s easier with someone else who’s also on the mushy side. Someone who also appreciates the distinction (because there is one, God damn it) between, “Love ya,” and “I love you.” And then I wouldn’t feel like such a tool for crying at The Notebook. And Moulin Rouge.

Plus, if I was gay, I could coordinate with my girlfriend:

Sadly, I just can’t bat for the other team. I appreciate girl prettiness the way I appreciate a nice dress. Er, wait, no I don’t. ‘Cause when I see a nice dress, I want to get inside it. So no. Like…a work of art. I guess the simplest way to put it is that I can objectively see the attractiveness of a girl without feeling any attraction to her. Whereas I can objectively see the attractiveness of a guy, but then objectivity falls out the window and I want to jump him.

Oh, lucky lucky lesbians. We straights have it hard. (I kid, I kid.)


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