I know I have said before that I am definitely not hip or cool. I am not a superlesbian and actually prefer to see myself as an unfashionable femme. So I really have no business being bewildered by a conversation I recently had, and definitely not enough to write a blog about it…

But I am and I am so there humph

Let me give you a little K background before I get any “You are sensitive” eyerolls….

Growing up, there were a total of 7 black students in my elementary school, a whole hell of a lot in middle school, and a whopping 3 in my graduating class. I was always the cool black girl, without much effort. I even had a girl tell me that I was one of the only black people she knew (keyword: knew, not saw at the mall or shirked from in the elevator). Sidenote: I grew up in Miami, not Mayberry… just in case you were wondering. It was never a big thing, I just grew up with the belief that I was a universally cool cat (though using the term “cool cat” probably just lost me some points).

Did I have to check a few in my day about a pre-Imus Nappy headed hoe-ish comment? Probably.

Did I give a side eye to a “Yo, what’s up my n*word?” salutation between two melanin-free jocks from across the hall? Mmm hmm.

But one thing is for damn sure, I never in my life was told to my face “I don’t deal with black people…” followed up with a “No no K you aren’t like themmmmm”.

Fastforward to this weekend. Picture it Sicilly 1923… well actually South Beach a couple of days ago… Ok let me start over again. Fastforward to this weekend. A group of us were having lunch and the topic of dating came up (surprise surprise). We were doing our nomal “Ooohs” “Aaahs” and “Blehs” when the straight-ish one decides to tell us how she not only won’t date a lesbian, but doesn’t even like to be around them (unless they are naked in her bed that is).

I don’t know whether it was the Jesus or the mimosas in me that stopped me from asking her “What in 77 f*cks are you talking about?” but I held it in. I took a deep breath, forced a chuckle and said “You know we are gay right… that was clear… didn’t want there to be confusion regarding our discussions of our girl-on-girl sex lives…”

And then it happened..

“Oh no not you K, you aren’t one of those kind of lesbians…”

blink blink

She went on to tell me every stereotype about aggressive lesbians under the sun. Oh I hate it because they always try to push up on me. Oh I would hate to be seen with them in public. Oh this, oh that. Oh Lord! I felt like I was in a bad episode of the L Word (like final season bad). I wanted to pinch myself and wake up but this was not a dream. I wanted to pull out a bedazzled soap box and preach to her about the virtues and accomplishments of lesbians past and present. I halfway wanted to get up and move seats… but I didn’t. Instead, I simply told her that maybe it is the lesbians she pals around with (this was my 3rd time meeting her) because I couldn’t relate.

Now I am sitting here a week later with the disgruntled face… Did I go to easy on her? Was there some truth to her stereotypes? Was I equally as wrong when I went to American Apparel and I exclaimed I wasn’t gay enough to purchase a legalize gay shirt? Would I have been so non-confrontational if it had been a statement of my race or my gender or my religion? I like to tell myself it was because I am too southern for fussing in public… I hope that is true. But deep down I wonder was I just happy not to be “one of those lesbians”?

I wish I knew for sure.