Something Kinda Ooooh.

I try very hard to seem like the hardened dyke I try to appear. I regard girl bands with a keen suspicion and sceptical eye. I shun reality television that doesn’t provide me with a nice lesbian. I will stand in a gay bar, soberly, not dancing. A few drinks sorts that particular issue out.

I desperately try to pretend the music they play in gay bars is not really to my taste. It’s just for all the fags… But secretly I love it. I really love it. I’m a total camp queen about music. Although I hasten to add I have a wide and varied taste, honest.

Queen to Scissor Sisters, The Communards to Erasure, right through to girly bands like Girls Aloud – I love it all. My toes are frantically tapping and the tune, and every single word, is thundering through my brain like a queen dashing to the dance floor.

I’ve tired correctional therapy – but even Ta Dah on repeat couldn’t sour me of ‘I Don’t Feel Like Dancing’. I admit it, I do, I do feel like dancing like a drunken lemming in pants that are burning. I am guilty of performing the arm-in-the-air-wiggle-and-woo before diving head first into a taxi. The demon alcohol only causes me to loose my inhibitions and openly enjoy camp feasts

I shyly download giga bytes of my guilty pleasure, and wiggle in my seat as I play it.
I suspect other lesbians feel the same, for when soberer than normal, I witnessed that same glazed look in sober lesbians. We are all conditioned; we happily listen to KD Lang and various other women with guitars. All the while pining for something with maracas and a snare drum.