Funny People

Written May 2009

Upon returning to work after an amazing weekend with the women, I find myself chatting with the coworker who covered my shift on Friday. I am feeling grateful for his help and loving a chance to express how great the retreat was. He tells me how happy he is that I had a good time and begins detailing his weekend fighting the sottish Memphis in May crowd. In the middle of a story about two women whom he caught trying to urinate in the garage, he stops and says, “But they were funny people.” He then shrugs his shoulders in a “and you just can’t expect any better from them” gesture. Immediately, I think, oh please don’t go there. My silence leads him to believe that I need educated on the matter. He continues, “They were women lovers…you know, dykey dykes?” I take a deep breath, focus on the building across from us, clench my pocketed fists, grind my teeth, and answer, “Yes, I know what they are.” From that moment on, the conversation was nothing more than his litany on how nice it is to be on a retreat reading the Bible and other such glorious things.

What is it they say about assuming?

Oh right…

Dear Mr. Pee-Pee Stopper,

We weren’t reading the Bible. We did read tarot cards and each other’s poetry, though. Certainly, if someone had wished to bring along a Bible, she could have. But as far as I know, no one did.

You know what else no one did? No one ranted about who wears too much or not enough make-up. No one gossiped about whose husband is sleeping around or which wife he’s doing it with. No one made anyone feel inadequate, ugly, inferior, unwelcomed, or out of place. No one condemned anyone else to hell. .

These women talked about their children, their life lessons and experiences, saving the planet, and the men they love or have loved. And some of them talked about *gasp* the women they love. But shockingly, no one peed on the staircase.

Funny People? Dykey Dykes? You mean lesbians and sapphists…carpet munchers, muff divers, bulldykes, butches, femmes, queers, lezbos, and lezzies? Oh, I know what those are! I just didn’t know that being one explained unscrupulous behaviors such as using a public garage stairwell as a toilet.

I know what women lovers are. But obviously, you don’t.

Sincerely,

A Woman Lover Who Uses the Toilet (as do most dykey dykes)

PS Thanks for covering my shift!

The Toe

The only way I can get JJ to get out of the tub without having him throw one of his drama queen parties, is to wrap him in a towel and cradle him as if he were a newborn. While rocking him from side to side, I must also chant, “bitty baby, bitty baby…you’re my bitty baby.” This is usually followed by a quick snuggle on the couch which ends with his sudden ejection from my “bitty-baby cradle” as he realizes that he must now run full-force from me, or he will soon be in a diaper.

Recently, during one of the quick snuggles, I noticed a scratch on the “baby” toe of his left foot.

“Oh, my baby! What happened to your foot? How did you get that boo-boo on your toe?”

I asked him this as if he would actually do more than give me the confused “uh-oh” expression he’s become so fond of lately. When the “uh-oh” was followed by a blank stare at his foot, I pointed to his toes and repeated:

“Toe. This is your toe. Say toe…toe…toe.”

He said nothing.

He looked back up at me and grinned and wiggled, preparing for flight. As his towel fell open, he stopped and looked down at his lap. After a few staring, contemplative seconds, he then yells, “Toe!”

“No, baby, that’s not a toe.”

And once again I am amazed at how many times a day this kid can make me smile.