What should I write my column about this week?' I ask my Lady Friend as we make the hour-and-a-half drive back to the city from our palatial shack on the banks of Lake Michigan.
'Snotty lesbians,' she says without hesitation. 'Lesbians who play sports are bitches. They all have an attitude. The better the athlete, the bigger the bitch.'
She longed to continue her rant, but I stopped her, dear readers, in order to take a moment to give you a bit of backstory.
First of all, my Lady Friend normally is not this hostile or aggressive in her opinions ( except when it comes to her views on my inability to hang up my jacket or put away my shoes, which are often thrown at me late in the evening ) . However, she happens to be on steroids at the moment to treat a medical condition that involves one of the lesser organs of the human body, which seems to have no function other than to cause strife in otherwise happy relationships. If you want to know the true definition of relationship hell, dear readers, I suggest that you live with someone who is on escalated doses of prednisone.
Secondly, we played in a lesbian golf tournament yesterday. I was under the impression that we had a wonderful time. My Lady Friend played very well, and when she has a good round of golf it usually means that we will have a happy, peaceful week. The steroids have increased my Lady Friend's strength to superhero proportions, allowing her to out drive most people on the course. Unfortunately, they have also provided her with a terrible sense of self worth that makes her not only want to beat her opponents, but crush them into bloody stumps, as well.
With that said, let's get back to our conversation.
'Why do you think sports lesbians are bitches?' I ask, knowing that I was starting trouble. The steroids make her grow apoplectic anytime I question her. They also cause her to make rather alarming statements about U.S foreign relations. A policy discussion with her these days usually begins with her waving her arms wildly and ends with her shouting 'let's bomb all of 'em' before storming out of the room.
'Because they just are!' she shouts. My Lady Friend is an attorney, so I feel compelled to ask her if this is an example of the type of Socratic debate she learned in law school. She responds by threatening to drive us into oncoming traffic.
'Have you ever considered that they aren't bitches, but rather that they are simply insecure and they don't have the social skills that I have—the social skills that you used to have before the steroids?' I ask.
She pretends to consider this for a moment. 'Hmmmm, no, they're just plain bitches.' She then gives a really stupid analogy that compares sports dykes to beauty-conscious straight women, which I won't go into because it makes absolutely no sense. I tell her that if she wants to make that argument to my readers, she can get her own column. She responds to this by making the same stupid argument again and again, but only LOUDER. This scares the dogs, who are cowering in the back seat and terrified to the point of incontinence.
'Maybe we should not talk for the rest of the trip,' I say.
'Fine with me,' she says.
We ride in silence for about two minutes. Then I make the mistake of asking her what she wants for dinner.
