Eight-thousand lesbians gasped

At the only other Storm game I attended, Mike proposed to me in one of those time-out games. Long-story, short: I was there mid-court, blindfolded and chasing that fuzzy mammoth-mascot Doppler, caught him (read: walked into his soft body) and when they took off the blindfold, there was Mike, on his knee with a ring. So I wasn’t really paying attention to the game after that and I certainly wasn’t paying attention to the audience (aside from the ones congratulating me and asking to see the ring).

So when my boss offered to take me to the Seattle Storm game last night because her friend flaked out on her, I happily agreed. When we got there, I realized one stereotype I’ve heard about Storm is actually true: there are a lot of lesbians in attendance. My boss gave me that disclaimer: the seats were great, but also situated in a estrogen-heavy zone. After Mike proposed to me, he called in KJR, the sports radio station, and told them the story and added the line that when he got on his knees, “Eight-thousand lesbians gasped.” I’ve always frowned at that because it’s funny, but wrong.

But it’s true. At least it was in our section.

Not only is it true, that game was like the United Colors of Benetton for lesbians. There were lesbians of all ages, races, and hair lengths. The ladies behind us kept rating the bodies of the players, particularly the blond from New York who when she bent down received comments like, “Oh, she’s bending over, take a picture!”

Oh, but you should have seen me. You would have been proud at the calls I made, or rather hollered with a deep-gutteral intensity. I screamed in a bloody-murder way, “CHANGE THE REFS!” and when Janelle was giving her post-game interview and said she was just trying to get the ball, there was a pause which I quickly filled in with, “Yeah, you get that ball Janelle!” My boss turned to me and said, “I like going to games with you!”

And it’s good.

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