My hetero coming out to my lesbian mother.

HeteroPogo

My mother likes women. It is what it is. She likes many other things, such as jazz, Native American art and Veuve Clicquot. But, yes, my mother is a lesbian. A vegetarian lesbian to be more precise. Tyrolean hat, tofu sandals and all that.

Of course, she has had her moments with men. A child of barely twenty, she married a guy to give birth to me almost five minutes later.

Then, there was another daddy who spent some time with us, but soon after, a lady and a lady, and another and another that stayed. In short, I mostly grew up in a world of alfalfa munchers.

No trouble with that. At all. None of my childhood scars and sulks have to do with the fact that my mom plays for the Muffs. I was nurtured and well fed. The difference was just a lot more extra absorbent pads under the sink and, thanks to a diet rich in legumes, I pooped wicker chairs until I got my own apartment.

Around twelve, I realized that, unlike my entourage, I longed for men. Not only men, hamburgers. When my aunt first took me to Harvey’s … the smell of the burning flesh … Thinking about it makes my tongue wet.

Those beef patties suspiciously symmetrical, those round and plump buns… Mixed with ketchup and pickles that gave that zing in the jaw… Praise the Lord! Hallelujah! If was my first taste of happiness.

At that moment, I knew it would be hard returning to millet pie. And following a slow dance with Paul Pilon (Hi Pauuuuul), it was official, not only did I like meat but I loved sausage.

At my sweet sixteen, I did my coming out to my mother. I tumbled to her in a mini-skirt and high heels. I took courage in both pink manicured hands and I blurted out, «I’m here, I’m het’! Get use to it! »

My mom calmly lifted her eyes from her GUTS magazine and said that she already suspected that I was not gay. Something having to do with the way I acted in general. I felt insulted. “What, way? How does a heterosexual act?? ”

But it’s when I told her I was a carnivore … Then … Then, she got upset. What would her friends from PETA think? All the diseases I might catch! E-coli, mad cow disease, hormones!! She really had a beef with my cow eating habits. She wailed: «I hope that you protect yourself at least and don’t eat raw meat??”

O poor mother … How could I admit that, just a few hours ago, I had swallowed, bareback, a horse tartare whole?

Fortunately, with time, she did get use to it and is no more concerned with what I feed myself in the kitchen or my bedroom. To push the analogy further, I would say that she knows I’ve tried veganism a few times. It’s okay, but it’s not for me.

Nothing I can do.  I was born this way.

 

 

 

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