10:15 am; time to go.
I grab some items and head out the door to a doctor’s appointment. Darn, I forgot to make sure I know where the building is.
10:31 am. A minute late, but by the looks on everyone’s faces, the Dr.’s are running behind and one minute won’t matter.
I get checked in and pick a seat in the waiting room, not too close to anyone, yet not completely secluded. Ever since I got dreads, I feel the need to not hide myself. I think it probably weirds people out to see a white girl with dreads, and have made it my responsibility to make them look at it.
“I’m just looking at your hair. What is that? Do those braids damage it? Be honest now.” What? Who? Why are you asking me so many questions? I look up and a woman with white hair, probably in her mid 60’s is standing in front of me looking quizzically and judgmentally at my hair. “They aren’t braids”, I reply.
“What is it then?”
“They are matted up hair. I call them dreads.”
“You won’t ever do it again will you?”
First of all lady, who are you to make a judgment about my hair, let alone what I do with it in the future? But I simply reply, “I’ll leave them in for a few years.”
“Really?! That crap? Has your mom seen that?”
Are you kidding me right now? Crap? Did you just call my hair crap? “Yes.”
“Poor mom, poor mom.”
Thanks for your concern, but she never reacted like that. In fact, before I even got them, she looked at pictures on the internet with me and said she thought they would look good. Yeah, it was a bit of a shock to her when she saw them on me, but they are growing on her and she has never judged me.
I see her start to look down my arm as she asks, “Did you lose your husband or boyfriend ‘cuz of that?”
Well lady, I’m gay so I don’t have a boyfriend or husband. Assuming that she is still referring to my hair, I simply answer, “No”.
That seemed to stump her. She’s finally leaving me..
“Do you have a husband?”
Here we go. “No, I’m married to a woman.”
“Oh.” Long pause. “So is she the woman?”
Flashback to coming out to my grandma. What is it with people thinking that somebody has to be the guy. And why are you assuming she’s the woman? Couldn’t I be the woman? I realize I’m wearing plaid shorts, but come on. Lots of girls wear plaid shorts. “Well, we’re both women.”
“I thought in those kind of sexual relationships one was more the woman and one was more the man.”
Are we really having this conversation in the middle of the waiting room? Well, if you insist, “Well, I think it used to be more that way, a long time ago, but it’s not like that anymore.”
“Well, I don’t care one way or the other. I’ve got some of “those” as my neighbors. They’ve never said, but I know.”
Thank you, lady, for the violent head nod in my direction at the word “those”. I am now fully aware that I am one of “those”, and that when you say that, you are referring to lesbians. That’s right. The word is lesbians. Oh, you’re not done.
“I think they’re moving to Colby for school in the fall. Where are you from?”
“I’m originally from Phillipsburg.” And why do you care?
“I know where that is.”
“She was born in the Olathe area, but has lived all over the country.”
No response, this is good. Maybe she’s done. I wonder how many people have been listening. No one is looking at us, but we haven’t been quiet. And this lady is dressed kinda mannish. I don’t think she should be judging my woman-ness based on how I…
“Do you work much?”
Right, this is an appropriate question. I can see how you would think that I probably don’t work, seeing as how I am a dreaded lesbian. “I work full-time.”
“Where at?”
“FHSU, Financial Aid.”
A nurse opens the door and calls a name. Please let it be this lady. Oh, she’s getting up. Thank God, that’s over.
I sit quietly and undisturbed waiting for my name to be called.
dreadedlesbian 