Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Open Letter to Those Who Don't Get It

Let me explain this.

I like women.  I like rough women with torn cuticles and their nails bitten down to the quick.  I like women with short hair and biceps and a Southern drawl.  I like women with sports injuries and broken bones from fights they didn't start but somehow managed to finish, even if it meant taking an uppercut to the jaw.  I like women with toothy smiles and winks.  I like women with manners and courtesy.  I like women with an instinct to take care of others, to get along, to crack jokes. 

I like women with trash in their cars.  I like women who scoop trash out of the seat so you can get in their car.  I like pick-up trucks even better.  I like stick shifts and tan forearms.  I like freckles and long eyelashes and sports bras that have clasps in the back.  I like chapstick and basketball on in the background.  I like long fingers.  I like confidence.  I like bravery.  I like romance.  I like love.

I don't like the word butch.  I don't like how jokey it sounds, how it falls flat like every other word.  I don't like the word femme.  I use them because they do, most of the time, but they are not enough to describe all the ache behind them, and between them.  I don't like that I have to use words at all - to correct, to describe to others what I want, what I am the other half of.

I don't like that so many assume that I want a woman just like me, soft and fragile and wild.  I don't like that men show me nude pictures of these kinds of women on their phones and wait for me to respond.  I don't like that men think that ultimately, always, secretly, I am the other half of a man I just haven't yet found.

What I like is baseball caps and soft tee-shirts.  I like soft lips, too, and unkept eyebrows.  I like smirks and chivalry and subtlety.  I like a woman who will wait and wait and wait, just to be sure I want it.  I like a woman who will drive me crazy with the waiting, have me lit up and near dancing by my car under the moon, then will finally lean in. 

I like women who will sit in the restaurant where I waitress, who will treat me kindly and leave a tip and walk out not knowing.  I like women who know about themselves, though, and aren't afraid to wear it out in the world, to be what they are in Wal-mart or the state fair or Timbuktu.  I like women who are strong and stubborn and flirtatious.  I like women who like women soft and fragile and wild. 

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

I love this blog!

Amber said...

Why thank you!