I’ve determined I like the word queer to describe myself. The other day in bed I asked my wife what it means. Also pansexual. I’m still trying to understand that. I think I might just be too old to get some things. She says queer is an umbrella term for all people in the LGBTQ community.  I said no way. It can’t be. I’m a lawyer so I argue definitions. It has its own letter. Q. So it must be that someone can be Q and not be any of the other letters. She rolls her eyes. She suggests “chaser.” I’m not amused. I didn’t chase this. I didn’t seek this out. I’m rolling with it.

The problem is she’s had it with my search for identity. But I’m determined. We went to an Indigo Girls concert the other night, not her thing, but I usually love them. It was a seriously white girl audience. I mean that in the most pejorative sense. They were so…quiet. And good. And ladylike. So…Serena Joy. I am totally a white girl but damn it if I’m going to act like that shit. Identity matters. I like queer. My hair is green now. Teal green. I think I can pull off queer. I am sleeping with a trans woman after all. Right? Don’t I get some identity?

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