So the other day I was volunteering at the animal shelter and was just minding my own business with the cats when this old lady comes in and goes, “Are you part of the tribe?” (I live adjacent to a Native American reservation). I looked down at my shirt and realized I had worn my tie-dye shirt with the word “PRIDE” written in large letters across the front of it.
“No..?” I say.
“Oh. Are you a lesbian then?” she says.
Speechless and mouth opening and closing like a fish, I ponder what to say. Lie and shove myself back in the closet? Eventually I decide to risk telling her.
“Yes…?” I reply hesitantly, wincing at the impending backlash that from prior experience in similar situations have come to expect.
But instead of dousing me with holy water, the woman just laughs.
“Me, too! I bet you don’t run into that many older dykes around here!” she says.
Then she sets down her old boom box and starts playing classical music all the while telling me all about her glory days back in the 70’s and 80’s and all the underground lesbian hot spots in our small town that she wishes she was still young enough to go to (she’s in her early 70’s).
And that’s the story of how a baby dyke and a dusty dyke became best friends in one of the cat adoption rooms at an animal shelter.