I Recently Learned That Men Flirt With Me

I recently learned something about
myself
at work.

Apparently
men flirt with me.

This was news.

A coworker asked me,
“Do you see how these guys act
when you pass meds?”

He said they puff out their chests.

Walk different.

Talk louder.

Suddenly develop
very strong opinions
about Ibuprofen.

Apparently
this is a mating ritual.

I told him that
I had not noticed.

Because men
are background characters.

NPC’s
in the lesbian video game.

They are doing
very elaborate side quests
while I
am just trying
to finish my shift.

Somewhere behind me
a man is puffing out his chest
like a pigeon
in a Planet Earth documentary

trying to attract a mate.

Another one deepens his voice
like he is narrating
his own biceps.

And I’m standing there thinking

sir
do you need the Tylenol
or not?

Apparently
what they think is flirting,
I thought
was a conversation
about medication.

He was like,
“Hey… how’s your night going?”

And I was like,
“Well your blood pressure
is slightly elevated
so we’re going to keep an eye on that.”

This man thought
he was shooting his shot.

I thought
we were discussing
Lisinopril.

Meanwhile

I literally have
a rainbow tattoo
on my wrist.

Joshua Tree.
Rainbow.
A warning label.

Men will look directly at it
and say
“Wow. Cool rainbow.”

Sir.
That is not a decoration.
That is a user manual.

Because lesbians?
Lesbians clock each other instantly.
Across a parking lot.
Across a grocery store.
Across three emotional walls
and a septum piercing.

But straight men
will look at a rainbow tattoo
on a woman’s wrist
and still ask
“…so do you have a boyfriend?”

No.

I have an emotional support woman
and a complicated past.

I am busy
doing lesbian things.

Like hanging out
with my ex’s mom.

Recently
we went to Marshall’s together
and sniffed
every candle.

Every candle.

Every single one.

Vanilla birch.

Autumn harvest.

One named
“mountain fog.”
Which smells like
a masc
in a flannel.

Another one called
“woodland cabin”
Which smells like
a lesbian
who owns three hatchets
and a Subaru.

This
is peak lesbian.

Somewhere
a U-Haul is vicariously
warming up its engine.

Being a lesbian moves fast.
Emotionally and logistically.
Just like my brain
while I read a MAR.

But also
being a lesbian
is hard.

Because when you fight

you are not arguing
with someone who says
“calm down”

You are arguing
with someone
who has read
three therapy books
and a podcast transcript.

Now they are diagnosing you
mid argument.

Using phrases like
“this feels avoidant.”

Ma’am.

I was just trying
to win the fight.

Meanwhile
somewhere behind me
a man
is puffing out his chest
like a pigeon
in a Planet Earth documentary
performing
an elaborate courtship dance

for someone
who does not date men
no longer in this lifetime
or the next.

Men think
they are competing
for my attention.

But they are competing
in a sport
I do not play.

I am too busy

sniffing candles
with my ex’s mother
and arguing about
attachment styles.

Because men
are background characters.

And I
am several plotlines deep
in lesbian lore.