Know the (X-Chromosome) Code

After my two years in Southern California, fish tacos are my default (fastfood) desire.  The entire region between California and Florida (except in Austin) doesn’t have a Wahoo’s, so I go get a burrito.  I grab a spot on the covered patio and begin to deconstruct the five pound beast because—in the beginning—I never intend to eat the whole thing.

I like to play in it.  This finger-in-the-food thing goes back to the summers that Velma and I cooked and cleaned for campers in a 150 degree kitchen in West Texas.  Did I tell you the stories about 300 pieces of chicken-fried steak or 15 trays of lasagna?  Maybe it will come up if Velma or Victwa chime in.

I can’t help but to hear the one-way conversation at the next table.

“He worked part-time jobs in East Texas,” the lady explains.

PAUSE.

“Nothing really.  He never really made any money.”

PAUSE.

“It’s that ‘Y’ chromosome.”

Huh? The Y chromosome = X chromosome money (x) 25%+.

“Foul!"

How often does the average heterosexual female use the Y trump card?  We don’t have one.  Y not?

We can't bow out and say women! and then disappear with a buddy for a weekend of “hunting” or go to a strip club and look at women to get women off our minds.  For us, they are everywhere.  And if I'm lucky, one will always be somewhere near to irritate me really deep inside the niche where only she can burrow.

When you reach a difference with your favorite one, you might throw a dart and put her in a category. Maybe, then, you'll use a non-gender trump card like clueless, insensitive. or jerk.  Still, you can't write off half of the other side of the world.  You belong to it. 

With that said—maybe that’s bad.  Maybe this ability, to pull out the chalk and draw a line—across the kitchen tile, living room hardwoods, or wherever you like to fight on floors—leads to a healthy lack-of empathy.  (Say it with me, "Empathy enables."  That inner strength triggers my southern female indoctrinated co-dependencies before the logical sector of my mind gets a vote.)  Jiro would say, “Suck it up.” Then, he would hang out with young apprentices, making sushi while his wife found a means to strengthen her female deficiencies.  When faced with a difference, heterosexuals get to lift an eye brow and quietly shout, “I can’t figure out that gender.” 

The bond of the heterosexual variety is an unlearned one.  Men who marry women who marry men have boundaries that are perpetuated by nature as well as nurture.  At first, each side faces a Berlin wall with colorful graffiti that warns of the enemy on the other side.  Slowly, self-awakening events force out their similarities.  Brick-by-brick each one decides when and Y to pull the edifice down. For, the first time I think that gender differences that are perpetuated by nurture are a good thing. Maybe there's more than madness to these human methods?

Lesbians can't build a nature wall.  But, they can build a nurture one—, goodness! I can launch a war with a mouthful of pseudo-psych evaluations that sound authentic but spew like process cheese with a broken lever.  My female partner can't say "woman, what's gotten into you?"  If she was in touch with me, she would know that not-knowing is more unacceptable than whatever injustice she committed.

"Helllllrrrrr!"

Being in the same nature pack doesn't help when you're suppose to be looking out for each other as females and as minorities and, not to mention, lovers.

We need to purposefully create a false boundary so that empathy doesn’t condone every-single-thing. We need a non-genderized code word.  Heterosexual females get to escape with “It's girl’s night out.” Well, that one can’t possibly work because you and your girl share the same friends.  Suggestions?  Anyone have a code that works?  

With two females, there has to be a distinction so that one can say, “Enough.  You’re sooooo not wearing what I’m wearing” and “you’re not going out with me on girls’ night.” 

“Shut your mouth,” I heard the ghosts of previous girlfriends protest. 

“Yep.  I’m going it alone into the cold dark night." And, "Where did I put my keys?" And then, "Please warm my side of the bed.”