Faithful readers of the Water Tower may remember my brave coming out as a hey mamas lesbian on page 8 last spring. This coming out was marked with character development such as an eyebrow slit, overworn polo shirt, silver chain, and a new swagger that could be picked up from a mile in the air. Today, I come forth with tragic news: there has been a death:
The death of a hey mamas. I know this news is tragic, but with every death, something beautiful is born:
A future birdhouse building butch lesbian.
Yes, I have gotten a haircut at last! Now I unleash the butch style that has truly been stored inside. Now I look at acres of farmland with a gentle smile knowing that one day my house will sit on land like this, full with a wife, cats, and chickens. I appreciate the beginnings of my forehead lines and the new calluses forming on my hands. If a stethoscope was put to my chest, the doctor would not hear a heartbeat, but the sweet sounds of the Indigo Girls, Tracy Chapman, and Brandi Carlile. I enjoy craft beer!
This transformation has come over me quickly, quicker than my relationships progress, even. My one year ago today Snapchat memories show me how quickly I have taken the lesbian-form that feels truly like myself. Just a short 365 days ago, the girl on my screen was wearing:
- A real bra with underwire and padding???
- Tight little jean shorts and cropped little tank tops
- So, so many necklaces and rings. Like not even hyper-femme, just distasteful
- ALMOST A FULL FACE OF MAKEUP. EVERY DAY.
The funny thing is I did not even consider myself a femme lesbian. If you asked I would’ve said I was kind of masculine (delusional). That little lipstick lesbian from a year ago reminds me every day how much I have grown. I don’t recognize her as myself, and I feel like I am now on the right path. I’m no longer pretending to be someone I’m not. This sounds sincere and sweet and wholesome, I’m sure. Unfortunately, the first thing I think when I see these pictures is not, “wow I have grown so much,” it is something much worse. Something like, “Damn hot mamas, who are you??”
That’s right: She (one year ago me) is my type now; and Me (currently) is what Her type was! Confusing, I know; the only thing you need to do is I have pulled a complete 180, so much in fact that my type pulled a complete 180. Whoever first said “opposites attract” probably did not mean within the same individual. Call this what you want, but I call it a lesbian win. This behavior, specifically the remark I made a paragraph up about femme-zoe makes me question whether or not I have truly grown out of my hey mamas phase; so I asked my ex what she thinks:
She was not available to participate. I now have an undercut; an undercut I swore never to get because she had one. What comes around goes around, and I now have an almost identical haircut to her boyfriend. I don’t mean to be mean to her, we are friends after all. I suppose that answers my question.
Once a hey mamas, always a hey mamas.