The Mister and I recently went on a getaway to our condo in West Virginia over the Memorial Day weekend. We donned our suits and were lounging by the poolside – me covered with 775 SPF now that I’m old as hell and suffering from Desert Storm skin caused by years of boating and sunbathing. Through the gate came a gaggle of college students – a mix of med students, sorority sisters and, of course, the lesbian couple. I am fine with this and not the least bit homophobic. Live and let live has always been my motto.
What I fail to understand is why these couples must be attached at the hip, groping and pawing each other with displays of affection, as if for our public viewing pleasure. I can pretty much assume it’s for shock value. They are proud of their sexual orientation, and nobody’s going to tell them otherwise. I was ready to shout from across the pool, “OK, we get it. You’re gay and proud. Now go get a room!!” Which is the same exact response I’d have if two heterosexuals were entwined, grinding and groping each other’s sweaty appendages in broad daylight. I sometimes think their parents put the kabash on thoroughly enjoying their defiant, terrible twos. But, on the bright side, if it’s a political statement they’re making, they have their careers cut out for them on the Hill.
I love a good hug, holding hands with The Mister, and a peck on the cheek in public once in a while myself. And maybe I’m just getting old and stodgy, like my skin. So I turned a blind eye and let the gals have their free-fest.
So what the hell. I lived and let live…