A Coming Out Story [of sorts]

I had a unique identity as a child. In addition to being a chunky little weirdo, I was also –

[EXTREMELY dramatic pause]

A lesbian genie!

One fine afternoon in the elementary school years, I decided that it would be great fun to wrap myself up in all the scarves I had in my bedroom. It felt fucking wonderful. How can else I describe the magical sensation of being draped in every single one of your gauzy dress up scarves? I probably even had some brown face paint Pippie Longstocking freckles to achieve maximum dorkiness because I distinctly remember dressing up as such one Halloween.
Among my many toys resided a metal, silvery, quite lengthy baton with cream colored ends. This baton was always quite difficult for my chunky, yet child-sized body to wield, but nonetheless I was up for the battle that day.
I descended to the family room in all the glory of my scarves, clutching my baton in my hot, greedy, little hands, trying not to knock the dirty cream knobs into things. I waved the baton around, awkwardly attempting to twirl it, and presented myself to my mother who had been busily working on something like the checkbook or many other possible lesser tasks compared my moment of budding theatre.
As an English major, I’ve always liked words. The most beautiful word in the English language is supposed to be Gonorrhea, as I now know. But that’s bullshit. I had found a beautiful sounding word that dripped off of my tongue with as much grace and style as my scarves!
While dolled up and thrusting my baton about, I shrieked to my mother,
“I am a
LESBIAN
genie.”

I must have caught her off guard because she did not appreciate my circus style performance of a vocabulary word with meanings obscure to my young mind. She shrieked right back,
“DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT WORD MEANS?”

Of course I didn’t know what that word means. I was exploring the linguistic applications of my newly minted word-find. Even then, she could tell that choosing English literature, the realm of orgasmic, soul-etching words would be a terrible career choice for me.

Le(extend the ‘s’ for maximum power)bian.

You really do have to get crafty to serenade your mother about your [latent] sexuality while decked out in your finest, poking about an object that presents as either a strange penis-shaped object with a probable std or an ill-functioning dildo, especially at an elementary school age. Although I certainly wasn’t getting any at such a young age, I clearly had the appeal for later years down pat. I’m a fucking lesbian genie.

[Note: My mother is very accepting and supportive now. She was clearly just taken aback by my young, mushrooming talent.]

[Note #2: Coincidentally, I’m actually a lesbian.]

[Note #3: A fucking lesbian genie.]

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