That Explains It

Yesterday, I was woken by my roommate's ex pounding on my front door.

"I came to pick up Venus," he said to me, nodding his head at the dog standing next to me as if I needed a reminder of who Venus was. "There's a realtor coming now...In fact, he's a few minutes late."

I stood in the doorway in my morning coat, my sleepy brain trying to process what he was telling me. "They're coming now?" I looked down at my feet, encased in fuzzy slippers, ran my hands through my bed-head hair.

"Yes, now," he laughed. He coaxed Venus to the door. "So put on some clothes and get the hell out of here. Unless you want the realtor to see you without makeup."

We both offered facetious gasps, in mock horror of anyone outside of a very small circle of friends seeing me without my "face" on.

He took Venus and drove down the gravel driveway, as I turned and ran up the stairs, picking up stray pieces of clothing that had found their way onto my floor and straightening up as best I could in the short time allotted. I was brushing my teeth and emptying the trash when my phone rang.

"Laurie," Nancy said, "I have got to tell you about our night."

I ran through my section of the house, tucking things where they would go unnoticed, closing the shower curtain, making my bed as she talked on and on about her Friday evening with her boyfriend, Alex.

"Nancy, listen, I really have to go...But I can come over, would that be okay?"

She told me that would be fine, and we hung up. I furiously dressed and replaced my black fake-fur slippers with real shoes and ran out the door, praying I would not run into the realtor on the way out.

I arrived and Nancy and Alex's house in mere minutes. I was greeted at the door by a Nancy who practically foaming at the mouth to tell me her story.

I made myself comfortable in their living room, while they told me about running into a very wealthy and well-known couple in town, The Joneses. They had drinks together, the four of them, and got to talking about people they all know.

I was one of them.

Nancy and Alex casually mentioned how hard it is for a girl like me to find a date, let alone a boyfriend, in a town like Milford. They were interrupted by Mrs. Jones.

"She's straight?" She asked, the shock apparent on her face.

"Of course she is," Nancy responded. "Why? You didn't think so?"

"No," Mrs. Jones replied. "We thought she was a lesbian."

"Why did you think that?" Alex laughed.

"Because we've never seen her with a man. And if she is with a man, he's gay."

I have no problem with lesbians. I don't even mind that I was mistaken for one. What I do mind, though, is that I was assumed to prefer women just because I was always out without a man. Or is it because I am a supposed-lesbian that I can't get a man to be at my side?

I don't know...But if my dating life continues at its current rate, The Joneses assumption may prove to be prophetic.