And now we are three

Image by The Naughty Corner

Image by The Naughty Corner

Around about three years ago, I met this chick who surprised me with her height. Literally. I thought she had run away from the restaurant we had dinner in, for our first ever date. Turns out she was just very short. Compact. Fun size. A people mcnugget, but amazingly generous, patient and downright hilarious. 

Fast forward three years, and my beloved continues to rock my world. 

Tomorrow is our third anniversary. Ready? Aaaand… awwwwwww!

I’m probably not going to post tomorrow, because I’ll be busy getting my rocks off celebrating in a dignified manner with my beloved. 

But here is a snippet of information for you: There is no “Happy Anniversary” card that caters for the three year lesbian relationship. Another snippet? If we wanted to get married on our anniversary, we’d have to do it internationally, which would mean that none of our family or friends could be there. One more? People use our relationship as a derogatory term (“That’s so gay”); as a hateful insult (“You faggot!”) and as a classification that results in ongoing fear, hatred, self loathing, and inequality (“Homo!”). 

In three years, I’m yet to work out what part of my love for my beloved is derogatory, hateful, insulting, violent, or negative. 

Coming out wouldn’t be such a big deal if we were a little more aware of what love actually is. 

Because this is what is denied equality: Two chicks, who found themselves in each other. Hours and days and weeks and months and years together. Three dogs, a cat, and two teenagers. Amazing friends. Beautiful family. Functional. Yep, we argue and clash and disagree. But we’d do that even if one of us had a penis. Working things through. Growing. Changing. Adapting. Living, thriving, loving. 

And totally not allowed to be married in the country we live in. 

Maybe in another three years, things will be different. 

This time last year, I was busily preparing the most offensive cupcakes in the world

This year, I have a pressie tucked away, and an appointment with the ankle surgeon tomorrow afternoon. Does it get any better than this? 

Happy anniversary, beloved. I hope you don’t fall over the dog mats and land under the table again tonight.  


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