On a particularly lonely Saturday night, I decided to text my female soul mate, since I am not involved with any men who are actually alive. A few minutes later I was in her car, and later sleeping on her couch. The next morning we got breakfast and nearly held hands in the car, as we both leaned in to change the radio station. It was then I realized I was in love with a girl, mostly because she is more or less a blond version of me.
My dad, who is now reading this at work, just terrified at the image of me now sporting long armpit hair and a short new haircut, will probably blame this on the fact that I go to a liberal university, where he assumes we all have nasty, free-love hippie sex when we're not advocating for the legalization of marijuana, and, gasp, women's rights.
Daddy, do not worry. I am not a lesbian. I love men too much, and could never, you know, do that to a woman. And beyond the whole anatomical physical thing, I love being treated like shit and never getting called, which is why I'm sticking with men. I have no desire to cup a woman's boob, unless it's to politely assist her in performing a breast exam. I have no desire to see a naked one, in fact, when I do see that one odd naked girl in the gym locker room, I feel queasy and wonder why her nipples are so small.
I've developed girl crushes on several smart, beautiful, accomplished women, women that I aspire to be like. These women range in age - one's a professor, another is the aforementioned Megan, who I consider to literally be me in another woman's body, and I'm hopelessly in love with her. Another, a redhead, allures me with her hair that resembles, well, yeah, my own.
But usually the hetero-girl crush is the desire to emulate the positive qualities of another female while simultaneously getting closer to her. But like some relationships, things can get sour. That's why I am going to tell you about my first girl crush. It was on a girl at my day camp in fourth grade, who was the polar opposite of me, so let's call her Grace.
Grace wore cute clothes from Limited Too everyday. I wore oversized Bulls jerseys past my knees and basketball T-shirts still dirty with sweat. She had a dainty backbone that popped out of her back when she hunched over in our circle for lunch. I had my baby fat and an inability to do any of the arts and crafts. Most importantly, every 4th grade boy at our camp was dying to tag her in our capture the flag games. While the boys fought over me, it was for their sports teams. Since I was the most athletic girl at camp, which wasn't saying much, at least I wouldn't screw up their games. When I went back to school that fall, I had a bit of an identity crisis and bought some flared jeans.
How about some Bulls jerseys?"" My mom asked me during back-to-school shopping.
""I want to go to Limited Too,"" I said while dragging my feet in the Sports Authority kid's section.
""Why?""
""Because I am a girl.""
The first time I wore lipstick, Grace made fun of me. She terrorized me when she caught me one day with my fly open at a school assembly. And then she tried to steal my older, sixth -grade boyfriend. It didn't work.
The last time I saw Grace, over the summer, she was wearing a belly T-shirt at a dive bar, never having left to go to school. This made me feel better about being a man as a child.
Obviously my taste in women has gotten better with age, and I've formed healthy relationships with women who do not make fun of my choice of cosmetics or still try to steal my current sixth-grade boyfriends.
And that brings me to my current girl crush - who accepts me for who I am, a girl with no clear future and a propensity to watch entire seasons of TV shows in one sitting. My girls let me be a man when I want to and are right along side me, burping loud after our beer.
If you're a smart female seeking a female friend to boss around and dare to moon the Topper's staff, e-mail aaspencer@wisc.edu.
