OutLoud

by Sally Sheklow

FUNNY OLD BROADS

Leave it to lesbians to enjoy aging

Between hurricanes, Florida’s coastal communities have nice weather if you like hot and humid. Their muggy climate is famous for sustaining primitive life forms such as mildew, cockroaches, binge-drinking college students, and people who voted Republican in the last election (thanks a lot).

But, Florida’s year-round warmth appeals to old people, and—hang onto your hat—lesbians get old, too. Even Sweetie and I are noticing the effects of gravitational pull. According to PlanetOut.com (and, by the way, not your local newspaper) two pushy old lesbian retirees are trying to enjoy their golden years in a Florida resort community that doesn’t want to let them in. And it doesn’t have to.

Florida, as most of our great country, is legally entitled to discriminate on the basis of sexual orientation. Now Florida’s got those two nervy old dykes intent on changing that. They want equal access to the bingo tables, and they’re putting up a fight.

But don’t give up on traditional family values just yet. Unlike our thighs, Florida is holding firm. What’s their deal, anyway? Is there a shortage of mashed peas and carrots? Do two old dykes gumming each other without their dentures somehow threaten America’s moral fiber?

Speaking of gumming, Florida is also one of the 16 states in the United States that still has—and enforces—anti-sodomy laws. You can do 60 days in a Florida jail and be fined $500 for breaking the legal prohibition on cunnilingus, fellatio, or anal coitus, pardon my Latin. That goes for everyone—homo or hetero—so next time you’re “down there,” be thankful you aren’t in Florida!

I wouldn’t live in Florida for all the fresh grapefruit in, well, Florida. Speaking of citrus, orange-juice spokeswoman Anita Bryant’s Save Our Children crusade—the mother of all “modern” (and I use the term loosely) antigay campaigns—originated right there in Miami’s Dade County.

Florida’s proud history of homophobia keeps slithering right along like a gator in the Everglades. Under the benevolent rule of Brother Bush, Florida continues to roll up its diversity welcome mat. The Sunshine State is no more friendly to lesbian and gay people than to the African American and Jewish Democrats who tried to vote in the 2000 elections. Florida’s queer hating is like gray hair: We can cover it up, we can dye it purple, but we can’t get rid of it.

Sweetie and I plan to enjoy an uninhibited old age in our own town. Our flesh is already showing age signs, prompting our newest athletic endeavor, Wattle Ball™. So far, our game invention has one rule: The only body part you can hit the ball with must be devoid of bone or muscle. Leave it to lesbians to enjoy aging.

We practice being our alter-elders, Lefty and Shekkie. Last night, Lefty pulled her lips in over her teeth (still her own), smacked her tongue and asked, “So, Shekkie, how are you, sweet-hawt?”

I squeezed up my face for maximal wrinklage. “Oy, Lefty, yah still such a beauty. And what a wattle!”

Lefty’s under-chin jiggled like an excited water balloon. “Shekkie, sweet-hawt, show me those fabulous wing dangles of yours.”

I raised my arms and flapped the loose meat—the ready position for Wattle Ball™.

We’re hoping to market our Wattle Ball™ invention someday, but it’s still in the R&D phase. Should the slow-flying foam ball come in bright varicose blue or neutral liver spot brown? We’re still perfecting the chin, arm, and thigh Wattle Ball™ whapping technique. Loose flesh is one resource whose abundance we can count on without having to invade another country.

Our target market is the non-age-phobic who won’t be squandering their limited incomes on Botox. Lefty and Shekkie will be the happy lezbo geezers photographed on the game’s package. We’ll rake it in.

Then we can build a Florida retirement resort and admit whomever we choose. If we’re really lucky, Wattle Ball™ will get us rich enough to buy our own governor.

Sally performs with the award-winning comedy troupe WYMPROV!

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