The British Girl Writes (and Writes....and Writes....)

After Pride. I came home and wrote a passionate and political piece for you, readers. It was full of great rhetoric and you know, stuff. I re-read the scribe just now and hit delete. I think I thought I was writing for the New York Times (that is, NYT meets Bitch magazine/Lesbian and Gay Literary Review) . . .

I can wax lyrical with the best of them, but those are not the best things of life; that is, my endless academic drones on the queer politic of sex and gender, that never resolve. Nope, THIS is the best stuff of life . . . the conversations I just had, with our host here, Ms Jenn:

"Honey? Babe? You remember that sort of Olympic ski person you slept with . . . what was her name?"
('Honey-babe' peers above her enthralling book and gives me 'the incredulous' look)
"What was her name....I'm going to Google her"
(Incredulous look becomes look of 'why the hell am I sleeping with you and NOT her right now you unhinged British bint??')
"Sweetie, I am SO bored, just humour me....okay, so I have typed in 'Olympic and skier and lesbian' . . . tsk, that's disappointing, all I have are pictures of John Kerry skiing down a mountain....maybe if I type, "Woman American Lesbi . . . "
(and this goes on, from me, for about 5 minutes while Jenn frowns, shakes her head and resumes her read)
"Okay, babe? Babe, so now I have typed in 'American Canadian Mountains Snow Shoes Skier Olympic Woman' and . . ."

And then, this INNOCENT and terribly grown up endeavour, was cut off with a roaring,

"If you Google one more thing about frigging lesbians ski-ing down frigging mountains you are sleeping on the couch!".

The best stuff of life. Let us now turn to this classic, from earlier this evening . . .

"Schuckums ,baby cakes, polar bear, cutie lips....Richard III is playing in the Shakespeare festival next week...I love that play....'My horse, my horse...my kingdom for a...'...I would love you to take me to it"
"Jesus"
"Baby, this is one of Shakespeare's best and it's going to be free in the park"
"It's outside?????"
"In the park. It's free."
"You want me to take you outside, in the park, to see a Shakespeare play? Outside."
"Yes! It's so brilliant and exciting!! Aren't you brilliantly excited!?!?"
"Let me just clarify this, you want me to take you outside, in the park to see a play where I will get bitten to death, subject myself to two plus hours of Shakespearean English, die of hypothermia and all of this, on a school night?"
"Well, no actually I want you to see a play about this royal bloke that kills his nephews"
"HA! Even if Kate Beckinsale asked me to go see Richard the whatever his name is (outside . . . in the...etc etc) even then, EVEN THEN - I would not go"
"So, that's a no then?"
(Cut back to, THE look)

Yep. Them's* the stuff of life (*as folks back home would say).

Those snatched conversations so ridiculous and so wonderful that only couples in sync could have with one another without any offense (and let's face it, we all know she's taking me to see it). It's having the conversations that leave a glowing inward smile at one anothers idiosyncrasies, when one truly cannot see ones-self, anywhere but here, because here, is a safe, happy and beautiful place.

I write this with Jenn now fast asleep beside me (like you, she drifted off in about paragraph three). She is looking peaceful and so, so beautiful and, come to think of it.....nope, it's okay, she IS still breathing. I like being in tune with someone like this. I like falling asleep and waking up with the woman I love after a night of random nothingness, softly luminated with, what seem, at the time, meaningless conversations and moments.

And so, those are the best things of life:

where I can be me,
she can be she
and this way, wonderfully,
we,
get to be.

Shucks.
Night, babe.