Okay, so you wanna know about, uh, “things lesbians do,” huh? Alright, buckle up, buttercup, ’cause I’m gonna spill the tea based on my own, like, extensive research… which is just, you know, living my life. I’m gonna walk you through it.
First thing’s first: Meeting the lady. It’s never how you expect. I wasn’t looking, y’know? I was at this, like, super lame work event – picture bad karaoke and even worse appetizers. She was across the room, and I swear it was like a damn movie. Our eyes met and BOOM. Instant awkwardness. I basically tripped over my own feet trying to get to the snack table near her. Smooth, I know.
Next up: The “Are We/Aren’t We?” Phase. This is crucial. After the initial meeting, there’s the whole texting back and forth thing. Trying to decipher if she’s just being friendly or actually into you. It was a minefield. I started overthinking every single emoji. Did the winky face mean she liked me? Or was she just being nice? I drove my best friend NUTS analyzing every message. This went on for, like, a week. Finally, I just went for it and asked her to grab coffee. Ballsy, I know.
The First Dates. Plural. Because you gotta test the waters, right? Coffee was good, but then we went to this awful indie film (her choice, and a major test). Then a hike (my choice, and I thought I was gonna die). Each date revealed a little more. I learned she hates olives, loves dogs, and has a surprisingly encyclopedic knowledge of 80s music. I was hooked, even though I still don’t get her obsession with The Smiths.
Okay, now for the fun part: Moving In Together. This is a BIG DEAL. We started with just a drawer at each other’s places, then a shelf, then suddenly our apartments looked like a bomb of lesbian cohabitation exploded. My place had too many plants, her place had too many throw pillows. We compromised and got even MORE plants. Then came the Great Furniture Debate of 2023. I wanted a comfy couch, she wanted something “mid-century modern.” Let’s just say IKEA saved our relationship. We measured everything, argued over colors, and somehow ended up with a couch that was both comfy AND (vaguely) mid-century. I still don’t know how we pulled it off.
The Domestic Stuff. Grocery shopping became a strategic mission. Who’s on dish duty? Who’s taking out the trash? We have a whiteboard now. It’s surprisingly effective. We tried the whole “alternate weeks” thing, but I always ended up doing the dishes. I’m a sucker, I guess. Also, the constant battle over thermostat temperature. I’m always cold, she’s always hot. We settled on a compromise: I wear a Snuggie year-round.
Supporting Each Other’s Dreams. This is where the real magic happens. I’m a writer, she’s a musician. We’re each other’s biggest fans and harshest critics. I read her terrible poems, she listens to my rambling stories. We push each other to be better, even when it’s uncomfortable. I got her to finally play an open mic night, and she helped me submit my work to a literary magazine. It’s cheesy, but it’s true.
The Little Things. Holding hands while walking down the street. Leaving little notes for each other. Making each other laugh until our stomachs hurt. That’s the stuff that really matters. That’s the everyday lesbian life you don’t see in the movies.
So, yeah, that’s my take on “things lesbians do.” It’s basically just life, but with more flannel, better playlists, and a whole lot of love. Hope that was… informative? Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go water my plants.
