“What?”
She really asked the question in title. Harmony and I were walking toward her work and she casually tossed that out, in concern. “Baby, do I look like a ‘butch’?”
“What? Who said you look like a ‘butch’?” I asked.
“Some ‘friends’ from Toa Alta.”
She put the correct emphasis on friends. What the hell kind of friends say that?
“Baby, you’re hot. You definitely don’t look like a ‘butch’.” I paused for a moment to let the point sink in. “You have been dressing slightly ’sporty spice’ as of late, though.”
To the last comment, Harmony got pretty defensive and tossed out a bunch of reasons why she was wearing comfortable sports bras and the like of the “sporty spice” look. All of which were great reasons. I don’t really care. I wasn’t insulting her; just pointing out a trend. I assured her that I wasn’t making anything of it and double assured her that she didn’t look like a “butch.”
She continued, “Besides, every time they saw me I was dressed hot but they still call me a lesbian and think that I’m a ‘butch’.”
I pondered it for a second. “…well I do think that if you were a lesbian, you would definitely be the ‘guy’.”
“What?!”
“What?” I said, defending my remark, shrugging my shoulders. “You’re just not all that fragile, or-” I was going for the word “dainty” before she interjected.
“I can be fragile! …and, and-” She was going for some synonym of “dainty” as well; I believe.
“Baby, stop. There’s nothing wrong with being strong and confident. I’m just pointing out what I think. I would probably swing both ways.” I said, referring to myself. “It’s hard to say. I’m a little ‘metro’ I suppose. Depends on the guy I guess…”
“I never want to have this conversation again.” She said, with a slight hint of remorse.
“What?” I replied. What?
