Dumb Shit Straight People Ask Lesbians

We’ve all been there.

Stuck at a boozy wedding or Christmas party where we feel like an exhibit stolen from a pride parade. Where you’re just the bog standard lesbian couple or lone masc trying to find the shortest route to the catering table when BAM! Some balding straight guy in a blue polyester suit, standing between you and the last open bottle of wine, visibly starts queuing up the dreaded (cue horror music in the background)…Questions I’ve been Waiting To Ask The Gays.
Now let’s be clear, most of us are more than willing to talk gay politics, coming out stories, or help with tips and tricks for helping your newly-out nephew in the rainbow shirt feel included at family gatherings…but that’s not what we’re talking about here. This is a real phenomenon, universally dreaded, that occurs almost everywhere the smell of booze is in the air.
Don’t believe me? Ask your friendly neighborhood lesbian. (That’s me. I’m your friendly neighborhood lesbian.)

Let’s set the scene.
You and your girlfriend arrive late to a wedding reception at a swanky hotel, and find yourselves seated at a table with a few other couples, more than likely straight. No big deal. You acclimate quickly, order drinks, and start talking to a perfectly pleasant woman with a forgettable blonde bob to your left about how lovely the ceremony was. In the back of your mind, though, you’ve already clocked him, sitting across the table, starting at your girlfriend’s cleavage. Let’s call him Bob.
Bob keeps glancing at you, then your girlfriend, then back to you, and sinks two double vodka tonics before Justin Bieber even finishes his ballad. Finally you meet his gaze, lean forward on your elbows, and wait. It doesn’t take long. He starts with the warm up questions and just for shits and giggles, allow me the freedom to let you in on what we’re thinking instead of the  socially acceptable answers we actually say out loud. They aren’t nearly as interesting.

“So, are you two sisters?”
No Bob, and you already know that because you’ve been staring at my hand on my girlfriend’s thigh since we sat down.

“Oh, you’re together together….” (He pulls an olive off his swizzle stick and takes the pit out of his mouth in a way you’re positive he thinks is irresistable and winks at your girlfriend.) “Like, boyfriend and girlfriend?”
With the exception of no dick in sight, yes. You’re on the right track. Thank baby Jesus.

“So…” (You feel your girlfriend tense beside you, and you know why. We all know why. Even Tracy with the blonde bob is giving him a stern look from across the table, bless her.) “I’ve always wanted to ask a real lesbian this…(He looks at your femme girlfriend again and licks his lips) “Which one of you is the man in this relationship?”
You ignore him and say something to Tracy about her last trip to Florida. Although Bob is obviously just getting warmed up, you feel it from across the table like the sharp tick fucking tock of a basement bomb.
(He straightens his clip-on tie and runs a chubby hand over his bald spot.)

“No, really. I mean, it has to be one of you, right? Who’s the man in the bedroom?”
Your girlfriend excuses herself to go to the bathroom and you’re a little jealous. But it does open up an opportunity to say what’s on your mind, so you answer him the only way that appropriate. “Actually, Bob. We just wondering that same thing about you and your wife.”
(And…scene.)

If you think I’m just being comical here, oh no, my friend. It’s happened to me more than once, and I’d put a fair amount of gay dollars on the fact that it’s happened to most lesbians you know. So, in the interest of progress, here’s a short rundown of the rest of the questions that are better left unsaid. Let’s call this fictional guy Travis. Again, I’ll include the inner monologue for free. Saddle up.

Why is she with you if she could just date a dude?
I know you think you’re really good at sex because of your irrefutable track record, right Travis? You come 100% of the time. That’s why.
Why do you have to dress like that? You just want to look like a man, right?
No, Travmiester, I do not. I dress this way because I want to look like myself. Also, your swizzle stick is caught in your chest hair.
Don’t you worry that she’s just going to go back to a man?
You pause here, take your time looking him up and down, then answer. No.
You’d be so much prettier if you let your hair grow out. I mean, just be a girl for crying out loud. 
Revealing your inner self-talk isn’t appropriate here, Travis. Save it for your therapist.
Two girls is hot, guess. (He shifts uncomfortably in his folding chair.) But the thought of two gay guys in bed just makes me want to vomit. 
Trav, let me be clear. Most gay men lead the pack in impeccable grooming, rigid discipline in the gym, kick-ass fashion and all around fabulousness. I don’t know a single gay dude that would want to change your mind about that. In fact, they’re perfectly comfortable with you riding into the sunset with that very mindset. Away from them. Far, far away.

Did I miss any classics?
Drop your Travmiester questions in the comments and I’ll answer them too. After a martini or three.