My "mother-in-law's" arrival is imminent so we are
systematically hiding away any objects that could be construed as
"gay". I've been having nightmares about her riffling through my
drawers.
In the days before she knew about us we had this ritual down to a
tee. Bit by bit, like CSIs combing a scene, we'd bag and tag any
signs of deviance. One time we missed a Georgia O'Keefe print even
though the labial-petals were staring us in the face. As her gaze
fell upon it she said "how in-ter-est-ing"; probably wondering if
it was art or a cry for help.
We might be out to my girlfriend's mother these days but we don't
want to leave evidence of it on the coffee table. It's one thing to
know your daughter is a lesbian but quite another to permit her to
see where a well-thumbed Sapphic Seductions falls open.
We are stripping lesbian novels and films from the shelves;
expelling Ellen, and casting out the L Word. I had no idea we even
had so many lesbian films; where did they come from? We started out
with Bound and High Art and they've multiplied like rabbits; that
reminds me anything phallic looking must be withdrawn pronto.
I refer to my check-list of ambiguous looking items for removal:
Two bulbous shampoo bottles. Check. One sheathed wine aerator.
Check. Root vegetables various. Oh what the hell. Check.
Why is it that even the most innocent of artefacts becomes
sexualised? I bought my girlfriend's mother a case for her knitting
needles once, and from the look on her face when I handed it to
her, she clearly believed was some kind of dildo protector.
Have I missed anything? Yes! I gather up the sets of underwear
that are drying out two by two like a lesbian Noah's Ark. Nothing
says your daughter's a lez like a pair of different sized bras
nestled up together up on a radiator.
This "straightening up" also includes our behaviour while she's
here. We've been practising our Laverne and Shirley happy flatmates
routine all week. No kissing, no cuddling and definitely NO talking
in tongues.
