Ash A Ho: ST <3's Roxy

Lesbians are awesome.

They chop down trees, wear flannel and have scary ankle tattoos. (Note: they’re also good at home repair, cuddling and talking football.)

I’ve been called or thought a lesbian more times than I can count (I can’t count past 20).

My sister (RagingSlutBag not Sugar Bum)  and I were holding hands (sisters do that) and walking down the street in a very conservative town. She’s blond-ish and looks like my mother; I’m brunet and look AWESOME.

We don’t look alike at all (aside from twin stellar racks), so we got plenty of “oh my lord, honey, look at those Jesus-hating-rug-munchers” from the women and a few “oh my lord” looks from the men. This entertained me to no end.

So, when I learned that one of my besties has an irrational fear of having strangers think she likes lady bits as much as the next dude, I decided to make it my daily goal to force her into awkward “let’s make this random dude think we’re driving off into the sunset in a Subaru” type moments.

My friend and I — let’s call her Roxy — go to the same yoga studio.

One day, Roxy and I were lying in the studio waiting for class to start.  Couple (man/woman) next to us starts cuddling. I choke back the Chipoltle burrito that’s trying to make a second visit, and look toward Roxy. Oh yeah, I made a move.

Unfortunately, she didn’t let me share her mat. Don’t worry, Red Dirt Babies. For Valentine’s Day, they’re having a Couples Yoga day.   Despite hating everything Valentine’s Day-related, I recognized this for what it was. Baby Jesus made my yoga studio put up this poster for Couples Yoga as a gift to me. I’m signing us up.

Another day, once upon a time, Roxy and I were at the checkout line in Target. Following the Valentine’s theme, there was a display of those shitty chocolate roses you bought for your high-school girlfriend in the hopes of a V-Day HJ. You remember the ones.

I turn to Roxy and say, loud enough for the cashier to hear of course, “Baby, are you going to get me chocolate and flowers this year?”

Roxy: (walking away) I hate you.

Me: But I love you.

Cashier: She’s not very nice to you. She should be sweet and get you something.

Me: I know. She’s just embarrassed. But I know she’ll get me something.

Roxy: (from three lanes away) I really hate you.

Moral of the story? Making Roxy uncomfortable is almost as fun as random bar make-outs. And a lot less sloppy. I intend to continue this little charade until I get bored. Especially if we get free drinks out of it.

After all, I’m a bad-ass wood worker (that’s what she said).

C U Next Thursday,

SugarTits

Come on, twitter me, baby. ST_RedDirtKings. Ooh, twitter me again.

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