Lesbians are everywhere.

Aaron asked that I post again, just to move the masturbation metaphor a little further down the blog. And since Aaron's wish is my command (and since he enjoys cliches), here I am. Talking about lesbians.

When I first moved here to the bayou, I saw absolutely no indication that gay people may actually exist. I'm not even talking about rainbow flags and gay bars. I'm just talking about my humble ole' gaydar picking up any vibes.

Then I joined a softball team. The coach's name was Bubba, and he explained to me on the phone that some of the players may be *dramatic whisper* gay. He quickly went on to explain that he didn't have a problem with no gay girls. Now, gay guys he might have to run out of town, but gay girls were okay by him. Upon hearing that I played softball in college, he quickly switched the subject to ask if I was married or not. I mean really. Gay softball players. Who's ever heard of such a thing?

Even when I got to know the other woman on the team pretty well, they rarely talked about their girlfriends or their social lives. Maybe they felt that the handful of housewives on the team wouldn't appreciate it, or maybe they were very used to hiding their sexuality in this backwater social climate. But it was all very hush hush.

Lately, I've noticed a plethora of lesbian couples. I think it is great that a seemingly younger local group of lesbians doesn't feel the need to hide so much. I do worry about them a little though. I can't help it. This place still is what it is and I'm afraid that they will find themselves the victims of petty crimes, harassment, or worse.

This reminds me of my college friends. As much as I supported their right to be out and proud, I would worry about them putting rainbow stickers on their cars and then driving through the worst sections of the city to go to gay bars. It only takes one person filled with hate and armed with a gun to end the life of someone I love. They used to tell me that I was "such a mom." I just can't help it.

So I started this post planning on telling a little story about me trying to covertly let all the other soccer moms know that our photographer was a woman. "No, look, right there. He's a man," they said. Um, no. That's a woman.

It bugged me more than it should that they couldn't see past the short hair and manly clothes. I spent four years consoling my best friends because they were sick of being mistaken for men. There was one horrible incident in a ladies room in an airport.

My husband said, "How could they not see that she was a woman. It was obvious to me."

I told him that it's because we live in the real world, where people don't come in nice neat little packages. I love my daughter's school, but the parents can be so snooty.

Anyway, the photographer started telling stories about her and her partner's twelve-year-old daughter and I thought the other mothers would convulse.

Ha! I wanted to yell. Good for you. Make them think.

And then I felt bad, because I should be making them think.