Kiss And Makeup
by Allison Wonderland
When my roommate in college confessed that she was a LUG, I had to request a translation:
“Isn’t that a verb?” I inquired, foraging in our cubbyhole of a closet for my teal cardigan sweater.
“It’s actually an acronym,” she replied. “It stands for Lesbian Until Graduation. L-U-G. See? Basically, it means that I’m a lesbian for a limited time only.”
I remember feeling conflicted after the explanation. On the one hand, I resented her for having the audacity to go after girls who were and always would be lesbians, and who would end up hoodwinked and heartbroken when she traded up for a guy. On the other hand, I envied her for having the gumption to go after what she wanted, even if she didn’t want it for very long.
Me, I didn’t even have the guts to ask a girl out. Bawk bawk bawk bawk bawk. I did accept dates when they were offered, though they weren’t offered often, as I didn’t exactly put myself out there. In fact, for the duration of my dorm days, I practically took a sabbatical from dating, sublimating my attraction to girls with the kind of asexuality that abstinence-only advocates can only fantasize about.
I had a whole slippery slope scenario worked out in my head: I meet a girl. I fall for the girl. The girl doesn’t fall for me. I fall into a deep depression. I fall behind on my schoolwork, inevitably flunking out of school. Shortly thereafter (because where else is there to go but down?) I fall off from humanity, and later, a cliff.
It sounds silly, I know, but there was safety in self-denial. As long as I didn’t put myself out there, I didn’t have to worry about rejection.
As my mother is fond of saying, “You need a serious attitude adjustment. Stop putting yourself down.” (My mother is also fond of saying that I’m her “little lezzie.” She considers it a term of endearment.) But she’s right, as mothers often are, and even though it took me almost four years, I finally managed to acquire a smidgen of self-esteem and get that trajectory of tragedy out of my head. I got tired of being a window shopper, always browsing, never buying; always looking, never touching. I vowed that as soon as I finished school, I would return from my sabbatical and get myself a steady girlfriend. It would be my graduation present to myself.
But fulfilling my promise hasn’t exactly been a cakewalk. What my efforts lack in success, they make up for in failure. Hey, it’s not easy being green. The selection process might be easier if I had some sort of instruction manual – Dating Dykes for Dummies or something – that could point me in the right direction. Or, better yet, if I had some Sapphic friends.
My first biggest problem is that I have no idea what to look for. What’s my type? Femme, I guess, but if I only look for femmes, I’ll be limiting my options, right? Yet I have to exclude some candidates. I can’t be open to everyone, because then I might wind up taking what I can get instead of getting what I want.
Allison Wonderland has been writing romantic fiction and poetry since 2007. Her work appears in several anthologies, including Best Lesbian Romance 2009 and To Love and To Cherish: An Anthology of Lesbian Love and Marriage. In addition to writing, Allison's indulgences include cotton candy, kitten heels, and Old Hollywood glamour. Find out what else she's into and up to at http://aisforallison.blogspot.com.
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