I went out strolling about in Georgetown with my friends Marta and Steve. Marta was looking for some cute sandals.
Steve, who is gay, and our authority on all things homosexual, calls her practical footwear "Marta's lesbian shoes." Steve was instrumental in helping me feel good about my emergency shoe choice last year.
We were crossing the bridge into Georgetown and something one of them said reminded me that Steve had been in my dream the night before. So I told him so. And he replied, "I hope I had clothes on. I hate having dreams with coworkers when they're naked."
I didn't remember the dream, but he most definitely had clothes on. As did I.
Walking in Georgetown with Marta means that we'll walk down M Street, and we'll pass Hu's Shoes, which invariably have spendy stilettos in the window, and I'll get this glazed look on my face and press my nose against the glass and drool on the window pane. Marta won't even glance sideways at the super high, shiny shoes in the window. I know she sees shoes like that and envisions them slowing her down by minutes per mile.
And then we get to Comfort One or the Walking Store. And she slows down and says, "Can we just take a quick look?"
Now, Marta is absolutely beautiful. She's a few inches taller than me, very thin and fit, with lovely dark dark brown eyes and long black hair. She has very cute taste in clothing. But she only wears flat, practical shoes.
This is because she is a big runner. Like, one of those hard core get up at 5 am and run 6 miles rain or shine runners. If she wears any kind of heel, it makes her more injury prone and affects her running. Thus, she's all about the comfortable shoes. When she asks if something is cute, I try to get in the Marta shoe mindset as opposed to the Lisa four-inch platform heel mindset.
So we're heading to the shoe store, and Steve is talking about Marta's lesbian shoes. And Marta, who has two kids and has been married to the same guy since she was 25, says, "I bet I'd make a terrible lesbian."
We all agree. And then Steve looks at me and says, "I could see you as a good lesbian."
I'm immediately flattered. I had a long drunken talk with friends on my birthday last year. I was giving up men for good - too much hassle and heartache. And I know this very cute lesbian who lives in Europe. Who thinks I'm very cute.
I told them I was over men. I was ready to go be a European lesbian housewife. And they said, "You'd be an awful lesbian."
Now, nobody wants to be told they can't be good at something. So I got kind of defensive. OK, very.
"I could too be a good lesbian!"
"No, you couldn't."
"No. You. Couldn't. You're not into women physically. You like men."
So I said to Steve, "I'm so glad that you said that! Because my friends always say I'd make a terrible lesbian."
"That's an awful thing to say. Why would they say that?"
"Because I really like men."
"Oh. Well, Lis, I'm not saying you could be a good forever lesbian. I see you more as a temporary one. I think you could be really good at that."
I beamed. "You do?"
"Absolutely. Like, for two weeks. You'd make an excellent two week lesbian."