“So who’s the guy?”
It’s a common scenario. Personally, it usually goes something like this. I’m getting to know a new coworker or a friend of a friend who frequents the same bars and hangouts as I do or some such person with whom I am placed in a parallel relationship on a fairly consistent basis. The possible topics for interaction seem so endless! Yet they are so hard to pin point, grab and throw on the table for discussion. So we go flip through the typical rolodex of safe acquaintance dialogue, choosing topics that say, “I care just enough about you to not be rude.” Where did you say you were from again? Oh, you like that thing? That’s cool. Definitely, yes, I also like music.
What did he just ask? No, now I want to know.
So, as it goes, you either bond with someone to some degree or you don’t. You become great friends who relish in the solace of inside jokes throughout the workday or you at least feel comfortable enough around each other to get drunk and giggle. The alternative, in my case, usually falls into a situation where an ignorant comment or generally unpleasant disposition cranks a lever forward and with a few rude creaks and an insensitive click, the friendship train is derailed until further (unlikely) notice.
Go ahead. You interrupt and ask which one is the guy.
Let’s back up a step or two to before anyone is even thinking about friendship or foe-ship. We’re still on the casual dialogue ship and the customer flow at work is slow, allowing for uninterrupted conversation to delve and little deeper. It comes up that you are not single and that you and your girlfriend have been happily together coming up on eight or so months now (but it feels like so much longer because of how you’re both past-life connected and what not). You’re fielding some pretty innocent questions about you and your girlfriend’s dynamic, which isn’t half bad. It can be kind of nice to recount the inner workings of interpersonal relationships to an unbiased third party. Then you find yourself standing at the foot of a fiery, ignorant mountain as your ears devour the next question. “So who’s the guy?” “Excuse me?” You reply. “Who’s the guy in the relationship? You or her? You know, who wears the pants?” First of all, you both have a really great collection of nice-fitting pants so that’s the source of your first stutter. SECOND, I believe our queen, Ellen Degeneres explained this years ago, the thing about a lesbian couple is that it involves two women. Yes, you usually pick the restaurant but she’s the one you don’t talk back to and live to tell the story. And yes, you’re the one who can change a flat but she hammers the nails and likes to get her hands dirty.
Bottom line: There’s no guy in a lesbian couple. That was weird to ask. You’re new friend is now weird and you’ll never share your snacks and beer ever again.
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