Butch Season: a time in a femme’s life when she declares open hunting on all single butches or stone butches in sight and sound. Butches should head for the hills when a femme says this. Femmes have been known to bait traps with cleavage, stilettos, and baked goods.
Around this time every year I start seeing butches in Park and Madison Avenues, Bryant Park, museums, the laundromat, supermarkets and restaurants in Harlem… I don’t know if during the winter months I walk around in a self-hibernation fog or if butches really come out to play in April. Either way, when I see them walking past me I feel butch season is around the corner and know I need to start prepping.
– make doctor and dentist appointments.
– take a look at my condoms and dental dams’ expiration dates to see what needs to
be replaced and go to the LGBT Center to restock.
– take a look at my sheets and towels and see what needs to be replaced, wash and fold anything that can be donated and throw out the rest.
– open my underwear drawers and see what needs to be replaced (from sexy something somethings to period granny panties that no one is supposed to see).
– go through my closet with an open and honest mind: can I squeeze the girls in last year’s first date dresses or do I need new ones? If the dresses still fit, do I keep all of them? What can be donated? What can be repurposed (pillow or toy for my imaginary cat)? What needs to be thrown out?
– keep ignoring the fact I’m too old for my Hello Kitty t-shirt collection. I take the t-shirts out, admire them, take pics for my friends (aren’t they cute?!), refold them, and close the drawer making a mental note that this year I must find that denim skirt and flip flops matching the brown Hello Kitty cowgirl t-shirt I always forget to get.
– take out my summer shoes and see what needs to be taken to the repair shop. I have a bit of a whore shoes problem – can’t throw any out!
– clean and donate any clothes or shoes that aren’t mine. Something fotw left behind or the shoes that fake assed femme gave me and I’ve never worn.
– set a date to enter my Rocky Balboa phase where I wake up at 5 am to go to the gym because it’s the most boring thing and absolutely hate it (even though I leave the gym feeling like Naomi Campbell) and if I don’t do it first thing in the morning then I don’t do it at all.
– plan my weekends throughout the summer. Contact other hibernating friends and pencil in brunches, birthday gatherings, gallery openings, museum exhibits, and walks around the city. I’m not the only one who does this and, yes, New York is ridiculous!
– mark my calendar with hair, nails, and waxing appointments throughout September and stick to the plan. One of my friends used to make fun of me. She said butches don’t need your jayjay to look like a porn star’s (TMI queen me, let me add: mine doesn’t anyways!) and wouldn’t mind if a hair was out of place down under. Sorry not sorry, I never skip a wax appointment. God forbid I slept with someone in between waxings and they went around telling people my lady bits were unkempt. Believe me: femmes talk about butches’ grooming or lack of. So it surely is done the other way around.
– plan road trips and vacations throughout the end of the year.
– see how many books on my To Read pile I have left and buy more accordingly. If I’m buying, I go through my emails to see any feminist book club’s recommendations I might have missed (one of these years I’ll make it to their monthly meetings at Bluestockings)
– listen to my inner crazy Jewish mom (No ring on your finger, you must not linger!) and stop seeing/dating whoever I’ve been seeing from whenever till April/May.
– be single for a (New York) minute. Delete or simply don’t go on tinder, the butch femme matchmaker and fetlife profiles.
– pray to Oprah and Tom Cruise’s God that this year I don’t catch feelings for a fuckboi.