Real Lesbians Have Wood Chips in Their Bras

I had my chainsaw. I had my protective eye wear. I had my L.L. Bean flip-flops. I was ready. P wanted some branches removed from the cedars by the shed in the backyard. I was just the woman to do it.

It was a beautiful, sunny, day. I hauled over the aluminum step-ladder and positioned it next to the first cedar to be trimmed. I plugged in the saw and tested it. I felt the vibrations as the chain whipped around smoothly. I felt powerful. I felt butch. I threw my shoulders back and, chainsaw in hand, strode over to the ladder. I ascended to the first set of branches; I placed my protective eye wear over my glasses; I placed the blade of the saw on the branch and depressed the button to engage it. Sawdust flew! The scent of fresh cedar perfumed the air! The chainsaw neatly cut through the branch like a knife through butter (an old cliché, I know, but an apt one). The branch fell away. P was impressed by my sawing prowess(she didn't actually say she was impressed by my sawing prowess but I intuited that she was). I moved to the next branch and repeated the process. This sawing thing was intoxicating. As I moved further up and around the tree, I became infused with a confidence I had never felt before. I channeled the Courreurs de Bois ancestors that surely must have nested somewhere in my family tree generations before. Their blood coursed through my veins and I felt it now.

It became clear that I needed to bring out the extension ladder. At this point P insisted that I change out of the L.L. Bean flip-flops into some safer footwear. Having ditched my safety boot after I left work, I put on the next best thing - hiking boots. I placed the extension ladder against the tree and, with P holding the base, climbed up to continue my task as P directed me. I sawed away, wood chips flying! Branches, thick and heavy, came down. Wasps buzzed around me. I was sweating - none of this "perspiration" stuff for me. I was a strong, capable, musky-smelling, Amazon. I had wood chips in my bra. I was a real lesbian.

P reminded me of the workshop I had attended mere days ago - the one on gender identity. The one that spoke on gender expression and gender conformity. Yeah, yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah...

But then...But then I thought about all the stereotypes about dykes. Especially in the glaring light of the Evangelical "Christian" backlash. How all dykes are ugly. How all dykes are flat chested. How all dykes dress in men's clothing. How all dykes refuse to shave. How all dykes do not wear makeup. How all dykes hate men. I am certain I've missed some but you get the drift.

We are a diverse group, much like the rest of the world around us. The commonality of lesbians is that we love women. And that is where the commonalities end. We are found in every race and creed and nationality. How we express ourselves differs with every woman, whether woman-born or trans (and yes, there are trans lesbians). Some are "butch" and some are "femme" and some fall somewhere in-between. All of us are women. So please don't refer to us as "lesbian women" - there are no "lesbian men".

I don't shave. I used to wear men's clothing. Frankly, it fit me better. I now wear dresses sometimes, especially in the summer. I am not flat chested. I don't think I am particularly ugly. I don't wear makeup. Men are not my favourite people but I can't say I hate them - I simply prefer the company of women. Oh...and I think I may be a Christian.

P loves dresses. And lipstick. And nail polish. She is definitely not ugly. She, too, prefers the company of women. Oh...and she is definitely a Christian.

But I digress. I am a chain-sawing, sweating, musky-smelling, Amazon Warrior with wood chips in my bra!!!!!