As seen elsewhere, I was engaged in a tiny fuss with the my hubby.  It is most unfortunate that these bruhaha’s seem to consistently take place at a lovely brewhouse establishment close to our home.  The relevant bits of the squirmish were punctuated after screaming ‘fuck you, fuck you’ in a less than comehithertone to said hubby in the privacy of our car under the veil of drifting night clouds.  I, explosively emotionalized a ridiculous conversation, because he loves to argue; jab at open wounds; or otherwise taunt frustrated loveys.  It is a sincerely unbecoming quality in him that keeps most everyone at a safe distance.  Whilst beering and pondering the political evolutions of late and the hubby’s incessant escalating in teasing, a woman seated at a faroff table began declaring her hatred for queers – loudly – and thereby substantiating my defense in our little todo.  What came out of this incident (besides one of her tablemates in his own state of horror and sheer shock) was that my dear hubby began to realize what my lezzies seem to have gotten all along: that I can no more hide in a closet than my flamingqueerboybuddies or my bulldykishbanditas.  There is something about me that is very uncomfortable in this conservativeheterocommunity of which I live.  I am a goodwifey, bearing all the markings and components of a goodstayathomemama… and yet I am so not like the other women on the playground!  It is why, on the first day, when the only lesmama’s at our small school saw me and beelined in my direction at the kindergartenkaffeklatch (and they don’t drink coffee); they just seemed to know that somehow, I was one of them.  And yet I am wise enough to realize that I am not identified or en|community (unless invited) by the lesbians either, I have no claim to that sexual politicking.  So where is my community?  Much as I love ya; I got boys, I raise boys, I love boys, I even sex boys so have therefore experienced some hostility from some corners of the lesbian community about my allegiance to women/womyn and such.   I stand outside of several identities and am bereft of a place where I am just allowed to be.

a bitchin feminista mama at the intersection of political quagmire and real life.

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