Some Bendy Fluff
So I shouldn't ask for more Bendy if I can't provide some as well.
Think of the following as a Wendy journal entry (though it would be filtered so Bebe couldn't see it)
I don’t believe in “femme” and “butch.” I mean, I get that there are lesbians who identify in such a way, but the fact of the matter is that they are social constructs. And social constructs that are kind of at odds with the whole “Gay Movement.” I mean, the symbol is a rainbow--a literal spectrum of all the wave lengths of visible light. So why do we try to cram lesbians into two categories?
I’ve gone to so many things, where we’ve tried to network and meet other lesbians. And when women are talking about whether or not they’re “out” at work or other parts of their lives, they’ll be like, “Everyone knows. I mean look at me.” And there have been times after that, I’ve looked at Bebe and myself and thought, “So, we’re not?”
More likely, people probably assume we’re trying to pass as straight. And considering that society allows female friends to be more affectionate with each other, unless we’re doing some serious PDA, I suppose we could. Maybe. If you squint and tilt your head a certain way.
The fact of the matter is that we’re both feminine, though Bebe is definitely more “girlie” than I am. But we both like dressing up. I like dresses and looking nice, and I have enough image issues that I wear makeup to try to cover up any pimples or blemishes.
But, really, the only requirement to be a lesbian, I thought, was that you’re attracted to women and not men. And Bebe and I can definitely vouch for the fact that neither of us “fail” at being a lesbian.
Anyway, as I said, in many ways, Bebe is more “girlie” than I am. She’s plenty bold, and less given to the over analyzing and over thinking that I’m often guilty of, so I know if I don’t act soon, she will. But I also know that she fantasizes about me being the one to ask, and if it makes her happy, I’m more than glad to do so.
Yes, ask that.
Oh, I know, no one thought I ever would. That as a lesbian and a feminist, I’d probably be all against the concept, but I also understand that this is the twenty-first century, and it does not mean the same thing it meant even a hundred years ago. And yes, we could make a lasting, binding commitment without this, and no, this won’t suddenly make her mother accepting, but it’s important to Bebe, and that’s all that matters.
I have a ring, and I know we’ll wind up back at the jewelers within a week as she’ll want to get me one, too. A bouquet of her favorite flowers--roses, not the overly stereotypical red, long stemmed but an orange variety that opens into a gorgeous mess of petals, and a spray of Cymbidium orchids sits in her favorite vase. And I made reservations to her favorite restaurant. Yes, I know it’s all typical, but I’m trying to live into Bebe’s dream here.
After dinner, we’ll go on a romantic walk, and then come home, curl up on the couch watching some sappy movie, with the flowers off to the side so they don’t block the screen. The boys are in on the plan, so they’ll be out somewhere, leaving us the house to ourselves. And just when the man proposes in the movie, I’ll pull out of the cuddle, drop to one knee, and ask her.
The ring will come later, as I always felt that was a bit...bribe like? “Here, marry me because I bought you this expensive ring, not because you love me, but because I’ve got money.” And considering everything, it is kind of a hold over from that.
There’s only one thing I don’t understand. I have everything planned out perfectly. I’m wearing a dress I know Bebe likes me in (and to get me out of!). I know she’ll say yes. So...why am I nervous?
Think of the following as a Wendy journal entry (though it would be filtered so Bebe couldn't see it)
I don’t believe in “femme” and “butch.” I mean, I get that there are lesbians who identify in such a way, but the fact of the matter is that they are social constructs. And social constructs that are kind of at odds with the whole “Gay Movement.” I mean, the symbol is a rainbow--a literal spectrum of all the wave lengths of visible light. So why do we try to cram lesbians into two categories?
I’ve gone to so many things, where we’ve tried to network and meet other lesbians. And when women are talking about whether or not they’re “out” at work or other parts of their lives, they’ll be like, “Everyone knows. I mean look at me.” And there have been times after that, I’ve looked at Bebe and myself and thought, “So, we’re not?”
More likely, people probably assume we’re trying to pass as straight. And considering that society allows female friends to be more affectionate with each other, unless we’re doing some serious PDA, I suppose we could. Maybe. If you squint and tilt your head a certain way.
The fact of the matter is that we’re both feminine, though Bebe is definitely more “girlie” than I am. But we both like dressing up. I like dresses and looking nice, and I have enough image issues that I wear makeup to try to cover up any pimples or blemishes.
But, really, the only requirement to be a lesbian, I thought, was that you’re attracted to women and not men. And Bebe and I can definitely vouch for the fact that neither of us “fail” at being a lesbian.
Anyway, as I said, in many ways, Bebe is more “girlie” than I am. She’s plenty bold, and less given to the over analyzing and over thinking that I’m often guilty of, so I know if I don’t act soon, she will. But I also know that she fantasizes about me being the one to ask, and if it makes her happy, I’m more than glad to do so.
Yes, ask that.
Oh, I know, no one thought I ever would. That as a lesbian and a feminist, I’d probably be all against the concept, but I also understand that this is the twenty-first century, and it does not mean the same thing it meant even a hundred years ago. And yes, we could make a lasting, binding commitment without this, and no, this won’t suddenly make her mother accepting, but it’s important to Bebe, and that’s all that matters.
I have a ring, and I know we’ll wind up back at the jewelers within a week as she’ll want to get me one, too. A bouquet of her favorite flowers--roses, not the overly stereotypical red, long stemmed but an orange variety that opens into a gorgeous mess of petals, and a spray of Cymbidium orchids sits in her favorite vase. And I made reservations to her favorite restaurant. Yes, I know it’s all typical, but I’m trying to live into Bebe’s dream here.
After dinner, we’ll go on a romantic walk, and then come home, curl up on the couch watching some sappy movie, with the flowers off to the side so they don’t block the screen. The boys are in on the plan, so they’ll be out somewhere, leaving us the house to ourselves. And just when the man proposes in the movie, I’ll pull out of the cuddle, drop to one knee, and ask her.
The ring will come later, as I always felt that was a bit...bribe like? “Here, marry me because I bought you this expensive ring, not because you love me, but because I’ve got money.” And considering everything, it is kind of a hold over from that.
There’s only one thing I don’t understand. I have everything planned out perfectly. I’m wearing a dress I know Bebe likes me in (and to get me out of!). I know she’ll say yes. So...why am I nervous?