Every time I nude up for the shower my daughter somehow manages to materialise. Coincidence or not, it has become so frequent that I usually respond to her presence in the bathroom with a hearty ‘rack off you lesbian!’ You see Samantha and I have this running joke about our sisters from the Isle of Lesbos. With all the mock innocence she can muster, Samantha asks me ‘Mother...what would you do if I was to tell you that I was gay?’ to which I respond with all the quelle horreur I can manage ‘I’d disown you of course!’ This is all delivered with a huge side order of Kraft and honestly, I don’t have a problem with people’s choices in sexual preferences (not that there’s anything wrong with that!) but hiding underneath all that homophobic role playing is a shred of truth. I am scared of lesbians: scared to death of them in fact. So there you go, I’ve said it. The shameful truth is out there. I’ve only ever met a handful of the sisters in my life, so clearly my judgement is limited, but in each case the experience was such an unmitigated disaster that now I just give them all the wide berth. Call me ridiculous and irrational but don’t call me irresponsible with my life insurance policy.
Lesbian Number One: was an unattractive bi-sexual and the wife of one of my first husband’s friends, Doug. A Harley Davidson enthusiast, this man was a particularly nefarious character and fashioned leather goods for an array of equally dubious purposes under his house on the southside of Brisbane. His kinky wife decided she was going to initiate me into the ways of the super-friendly sisterhood on my hen’s night. I wasn’t going to have hen’s party but she persuaded me to her house for ‘cocktails’ rather than spend the evening alone. So I arrive overdressed in my best frock, to what amounted to be a biker chick meet. This hen was superfluous. In hindsight, I really should have sensed something was up when she put on that blonde wig and lace-up leather bustier and cornered me in the lounge room with a predatory expression. She was speeding off her dial and truly frightening to behold. This was the early 90s and long before I had a mobile phone so after she went the rough grope on my pre-nuptials, I had no choice but to leg it from my own party (in high heels) and find a taxi on the foreboding night time streets of downtown Rochedale.
Lesbian Number Two: was a promotions staff member at the Once Formidable Radio Station. One of the best things about working there was all the freebies. If it was a new magazine or an energy drink or tickets to a concert, we’d suddenly find it on our desks at any given moment of the day. I suppose some would call it target marketing; we always called it ‘getting free shit’. The funniest thing ever to arrive on our desks was a promotional can of ‘Spray on Stud’. Apparently this gear gave you numb nuts so you could ‘go the distance’. Judging by some of the weasels in sales, whose sex lives I’d say would have been primarily solitary; I’d suggest that prolonging the act with ‘an erection that doesn't quit’ would just cause an unecessary bout of chaffing (either that or the man in question has a prostate big enough to park a Volvo in!) Anyways...turn up at any radio station in the morning while that mail is being sorted out and you will see grown adults squealing like a bunch of deranged Wiggles fans. Sadly, much of my day was spent handing the free shit out to the listeners and this is where my lesbian comes into the story. Before Lesbian Number Two arrived on the scene, whenever I wanted something from the prize cupboard that took my fancy, I would simply ask for it. Sometimes the answer would be ‘yes’ and at other times it would be ‘no’ and I was happy to live with that. When LN2 took over the role things changed drastically. Suddenly the amount of prizes given away and the stock levels didn’t match and it became normal for me to be standing in reception with a listener explaining that his prize had gone walkabout and would he like something else instead…in a nutshell prizes were going missing and LN2 was quick to point the finger at me and make a big scene. I was indignant and explained to her that theft wasn’t my style and if I wanted something, I would just ask for it. She in turn created this elaborate arse-covering system that involved co-signing for prize stock in order to placate her angry boss. This intolerable situation, in which I was regularly left embarrassed with an empty-handed prize winner in front of me at the reception desk, was really starting to mess with my head. To make matters worse, she treated me like a recalcitrant child in private but quickly turned on the disingenuous charm for the listeners and the rest of the staff. She enjoyed the amount of power her position afforded her. Salesmen were always smarming around her sniffing out the best tickets for Lions’ games and announcers were always after the best seats to whatever concert was on. LN2 had a lot of people at her beck and call. Some would say she was just taking advantage of the quid pro quo. I would say she was just cunning and manipulative. Essentially all of this means I was the one lone soldier in this battle with the LN2. The reception area was well segregated from the rest of the staff so this also meant she could wager her daily assault on me without any witnesses. Suddenly LN2 developed a fascination with expensive overnight express bags and posting CDs which I thought was odd considering she had imposed a steadfast ‘no posting prizes to the listeners policy’. After a month of this I was beginning to get fed up, mainly because I was the desk monkey in charge of ordering supplies. I reported her to the boss but nothing seemed to happen. LN2 disappears three months later. Apparently she’d been fixing the numbers when ordering prize stock and has been secretly selling her stash of unaccounted-for goodies on EBay and posting it from the premises! Last thing I heard the radio station was going to take her to court. I just wish I had the opportunity to see her again and give her a piece of my mind the sneaky bitch! Oh and I know that her being a bitch has nothing to do with her being a lesbian but I’m afraid the machinations of my mind don’t frequent very noble territory. Call it a nasty blind spot.
Lesbian Number Three: I didn’t even know her in person. I crossed paths with her online a couple of years back and now she hates my guts. What is it with me and lesbians? Why does this keeps happening to me? To be honest, I was probably asking for it. Referring to lesbians as the 'Fanny Rub Club' was not my finest moment.