I often wonder why it is that I am so gay. Some people put it down to genetics, Freud said it was because of childhood trauma, and Simone de Beauvoir hinted that it might be narcissism. The more liberal and open minded say that human sexuality is fluid, like the Kinsey scale, we all float somewhere between preferring one gender or the other, and that most people rank somewhere around hetero with slightly gay tendencies.
Not me. If there’s a scale of naught to ten, with naught being ‘straight’ and ten being ‘gay’, I’d rank at somewhere around 11.5 - ‘over the top’. I don’t know what the reason for this is, I’ve had no obvious childhood trauma (can you consider being denied a ninja turtle tracksuit childhood trauma?); I don’t believe genetics alone can explain complex human behaviour; and although the most plausible of the three in my case, I don’t quite think that even I am narcissistic enough to give up on men entirely in the pursuit of dating myself.
Yet last week I had some unexpected insight as to the reason for my homosexual tendencies. The unlikely source was one of the chefs at my fascinating place of work. He’s one of those guys you generally try and avoid small talk with, a giant hulk of a man who indiscriminately calls every woman in the restaurant by the name ‘Anna’ because he doesn’t care find out what your name is. His favourite trick is to ask you ‘Are you happy, Anna?’ when you’re visibly in a bad mood, just so that he can tell you that you should turn to Jesus to be happy, regardless of your response. Once he told me after I had made a mistake with an order, that this is why women shouldn’t work. Honestly? This is why women shouldn’t work as WAITRESSES? I would hate to know just how stupid he thinks women are that even waitressing is a bit too advanced for us.
So you can understand my dismay when I was trapped in the basement of a staffroom with him the other day. Forced to iron my shirt before a shift, I knew there was no way I could escape one of his little chats. There was only one way to get through it, answer politely and don’t let him provoke me!
After a barrage of pointless questions, I foolishly let slip that my sister is getting married, I immediately regretted bringing up the topic. “Ah that is good Anna, it is good to get married. You must pray for your time to come when you will get married. Are you going to get married Anna?” Don’t let him provoke me, don’t let him provoke me! Curt “No”
“But why not, Anna? If you get married, then men will respect you because they will know that you have a man. Then the men at work won’t treat you like they do. Why don’t you want to get married Anna?”
Can you picture me ironing my shirt and trying to remain calm? Persistent bastard. He knows very well that I am “a lesbian”, and although he understands what this entails, I’m fairly certain he doesn’t believe it exists. What really piqued me about this comment though is how he feels that he has to tell me that unless I belong to a man, no men will ever respect me. How could I be foolish enough not to get this? He better tell me so that I understand.
This isn’t over, here’s the pearl:
“Why don’t you want to get married Anna? Is it because you think you are not pretty enough?”
And there it is! Finally, it has all been explained! My questions answered in a flash of blinding light!
I am a lesbian because I think I’m not pretty enough to get married. I hope this answers your questions too, because by the looks of you, you’re not pretty enough to get married either.
With my tongue in my cheek I say peace out (but then it sounds like ‘pith ot’)
Katka xxxxx
Kathryn Schneider (a.k.a Katka-Kapenaar) is a Cape Town Lesbian abroad, immersing herself in the ups and downs of lesbian life in London and attempting to navigate the fabulous and treachourous gay scene to the soundtrack of electro-synth pop. See how she copes with more gay girls than she can count on her two hands at www.katka-k.blogspot.com
| Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
|
