This week I was standing still for so long that my old life
caught up with me. I was reunited with a friend from my pre-lesbian
days when our two worlds - and trolleys - collided in
Waitrose.
She said my name and it was as if she'd pulled the ripcord on my
current life and sent me hurdling back to 1998. Back then I dated
my fair share of men but I could never work out why Mr Right was
only ever Mr Just all-right. It was like playing an incredibly long
Post-it game: I had 'Lezzer' stuck to my forehead but it took years
for me to figure it out.
How do I tell her that I ditched Adam a long time ago…for my
forbidden other half, Eve?
When I gave up men I should have been offered entry to the Lesbian
Protection Program. They'd have changed my name to Sue and moved me
to a quiet suburb by now. It would have shielded me from running
into people from my past and having to explain that it's not only
my hairstyle that's changed.
She hasn't changed much at all. She still has a job in media,
still lives in North London, and is still seeing Dave. In fact, now
they're married. The only aisle I'm interested in, however, is the
ice cream one. Where's my girlfriend?
I'm introduced to the child in her trolley, and in return I
introduce her to the bumper pack of tampons and two bottles of
Rioja in mine. (She probably thinks I'm having another drunken
period).
A warning light has come on. My conversational tank is nearing
empty. We are running dangerously low on small talk. I know that
any minute now she'll ask, "So, are you married?" I am mentally
scrolling through possible replies when she surprises me by saying,
"You seem happier..."
She's right. I am happier - even supermarket shopping, early on a
Saturday morning with a hangover.
Just then my girlfriend arrives and throws a tub of Ben and
Jerry's into the trolley. As we say our goodbyes, I leave my past
behind happy in the knowledge that there'll be plenty of ice cream
in my future.
