The other day I was sitting at a party with a glass of wine in my hand, when I was once again asked the inevitable question:
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No,” I replied airily.
He raised his eyebrows as if I had just revealed that I was the Pope. “Oh… so you’re a lesbian?”
I almost regurgitated my wine. “No, I’m just single.”
He looked as if I had just said that I catch aliens in my backyard in my spare time. “But how can that be? You’re so nice and cute and… and… you have a dog!”
“Yes,” I said, “my doggie is very loyal, at least he doesn’t let me know every night that I’m a lesbian because I don’t have a partner.”
He nodded gravely, as if he had just solved a big mystery. “But… are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said with a broad grin, “definitely sure. But thanks for investigating.”
He walked away, clearly relieved that he had saved the world from yet another lesbian conspiracy theory.
