I love lesbians. For real. And no, it’s not some voyeuristic sexual thing. Lesbians have become my favorite kind of friend.
I am not so macho. The ghosts of Fernando Lamas and Ricardo Montalban are way more macho than me. Lesbians like this about me. They’re not trying to emasculate me, though. They’re cool with my stereoptypically manly knowledge about mechanical things and stuff like that. We talk about guy stuff like poop. I even heard an extensive monologue about dicks from a previously-man-hating lesbian. Fun and laughter is had by all without censorship.
Don’t mistake these women for men. They are very much not. They are sensitive and emotional and all woman. We talk feelings. We talk menstrual cycles. They don’t make me feel weird about being vulnerable or for crying. I can express my feelings freely, and I have lots of feelings. Lots. I am super emotional. Have I mentioned that I am not macho?
My favorite thing about lesbian friends is no fear of any “When Harry Met Sally” crap. This is why I love married lesbians the best. (Thank you again, Supreme Court, for striking down DOMA!) I never have to worry about them having feelings for me or me having feelings for them. I’m a total empath and mix others’ emotions all too easily into my own. I have fallen in love with multiple women for whom I initially felt nothing. They dug me for whatever crazy reason, and if they can keep me around, I always fall right back. No fear of that with the lesbians. We’re just friends with no worries about messy romantic crap down the road.
So today I’m giving thanks to all my friends, but I have to give this special tribute to those women who love women. Thank you for letting me love you in my crazy, grumpy old man, paternal sort of way. Because for real, I love you.