Well, queers, it’s Pride season and like any other good Catholic dyke I’ve been hitting the town (although not quite as hard as the Lady, aka the Almighty, might like, but hey, we do our best). My most recent bout around town was a trip to the local dyke watering hole; which here in DC we lovingly refer to it as ‘The Phase’. In true L word fashion, the Phase was hosting a jello wrestling competition (read: an excuse to charge a $10 cover so a bunch of lezzies can watch scantily clad women rolling on top of one another in a bunch of liquid) in honor of Pride month.
Fellow dykes, I must say that this was quite the treat. In fact, I’d personally like to give a special shout out to Mary, Mother of God and Queen of Heaven. I’m pretty sure she took a good ‘ol look at my Rosary account and, upon noticing that I have amassed a sizeable amount of Hail Marys, decided she would let me cash in by giving me a front row seat to the babe-on-babe fest. Amen.
Now, I’m sure ya’ll are expecting video clips and/or photos with prime shots of the lady action, but that won’t be happening because I simply don’t have those. I’m much too respectful of boundaries and too sensitive as a feminist to exploit women at that level. I, also, don’t own a fancy phone with quality picture takin’ capabilities (and I might’ve left the jello wrestling event a tad early in order to pursue my ladycrush who was waiting in line outside of the bar, so…)
Moving on to the actual point of this entry: why my mother is hilarious.
As I was wandering the streets of the city before my night of debauchery, I made a phone call to my beloved, unsuspecting parents. It went a little something like this:
(for the sake of my anonymity, let’s pretend my name is something really Catholic like Agnes and that my dad’s name is Joseph)
Me: Yo, mama, what’s going on?
Mother: Hello, Agnes, what are you up to tonight?
Me: Um, going to meet up with some friends at…a bar.
Mother: Oh, that sounds like fun.
Me: (inner dialogue: eh, what the fuck, why not?) Yeah, actually it’s a lesbian bar. They are hosting a jello wrestling tournament tonight in honor of it being Pride and all.
Mother: Oh. Well, that sounds interesting.
Me: I’m pretty pumped it should be a good time, I hope.
Mother: Oh, Agnes, you are a character. Actually, you know I just don’t see how that could be interesting. I mean, I understand going out to the bar, but I just don’t get the wrestling thing.
Me: I think there’s a distinct possibility that it will be interesting, Mom.
Mother: How is that interesting?
Me: Could you ask Dad if he thinks watching women in underwear wrestling each other in a pool of jello would be interesting?
Mother: Calls to my father: Joe! Joe! Agnes wants to know what you think about women wrestling in jello. Why don’t you just talk to her yourself? Tries to give my father the phone.
Me: cringes while imagining discussing practically naked women with her father (inner dialogue: please, please, don’t take the phone, dad. PLEASE.)
Mother: Well, he just won’t take the phone. I guess that could be fine, Agnes. I just don’t think I would like watching men wrestling each other.
Me: Hm, really?
Mother: You and your sister are just opening me up to all sorts of things. I am just learning so much.
Me: I hope that’s a good thing?
Mother: Yeah, well, sure. I guess it might be. Sure.
Ladygays, my beautiful Midwestern Catholic (once Southern and Protestant before her imminent conversion and homecoming to Holy Mother Church) mother:
a) couldn’t fathom what could possibly be interesting about women wrestling each other and
b) wanted to me to have an actual conversation with my father about it.
Yikes, dykes. Yikes. Counting my blessings and doing a sign of the cross accompanied by a chorus of sighs of relief. Thank the Lady for my father’s discretion.
That’s all I have for now, folks. This sisterqueer hopes that you might have such a conversation with your parents someday. Good luck with all future endeavors of this nature and feel free to ask us GCDs for advice when needed.
Happy Pride, ya’ll!
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