“In fact”—the seminarian sighs—“no one knows how lesbians work.” “It’s easy,” I say. “You put one leg over her leg, and then she puts her other leg over your other leg, and then you brush each other’s hair forever while not going to church.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re not a lesbian, Tricia,” he tells me patiently. “You wear dresses.” “If you’re so determined to figure out who’s gay and who’s not,” I say to my father, “then why don’t you ask someone who has actually met some gay people, gay people who haven’t had to pretend their whole lives not to be gay?”
