Speaking of running with yang sort of women…I’ve been thinking about this and it’s been true all my life. My best friend from the time I was ten, was a lesbian who came out in high school and nothing much has changed. I am forever running with some gal in jeans and a t-shirt where I am virtually constantly in a skirt.

I definitely like the contrast, and it’s not like I don’t like women who are more like me. Because I do! I just tend to do very yin things with them. Like talk on the phone in circles, for hours at a clip, while lying in bed. There is no initiative! We’re just both waiting for some man to come along and make something happen!

But here’s a bit of another gal I used to run with. Kay. She was an Aquarius with and Aquarius rising and a Libra Moon. All positive energy. She’s famous for wanting to rebel, (Aquarius) by not shaving her legs. But she couldn’t decide (Libra) so she shaved one, left the other one hairy, and she kept it that way for months!

Anyway, we were on an excursion once. We were heading to the mountains for reason non-specific. And she had this thing about farms. She’s driving here, and her pants are filthy.

“Those pants are filthy, Kay.”

“Yeah I know. Well, I know that they’re a little dirty. I don’t think they’re exactly filthy, Elsa, but what if they are? Do you want to know something else about them?”

“Yeah, I do. Tell me.”

“These are man’s pants! How about that?” She grinned. “Well they are my pants now! So they are woman’s pants but they belonged to a man at one time, and I think they’re fun,” she said.

I laughed. “I think they’re dirty.”

“Of course they’re dirty! I’m supposed to look like I work on a farm,” she explained.

“Oh. Right.”

“I wouldn’t like anyone who doesn’t like animals anyway.”

“Yeah. I know that about you, so this is a good way to find out.”

“Uh huh. I think I look pretty good for someone who’s been feeding animals all day. I don’t look as good as you though,” she said with a whistle.

“Well I think you do, Kay. Except my clothes are clean.”

“Clean as a whistle!” She snorted and I laughed. “But you’re not a farmer. I look pretty darned good, for a farmer.”

“Yeah, you do. But you haven’t fed animals on a farm since you were six years old.”

“I know that. But I’m hoping to be mistaken by people out there who don’t know that,” she said.

“Okay then.” I winked. “If you’re mistaken for a farm-girl, or even a farm-man, I’ll keep quiet about it.”

“Ooooh! I hope that happens.”