By Dori Hartley for YourTango.com.
Women crave affection and soulful friendships, not necessarily sex.
And while wife and wife, and husband and husband are valid, those terms are based in a heterosexual world and may not have the same appeal to a gay couple. Or, maybe they do.
I used to think “partner” was inadequate, sort of a passing phase word that could be used simply because there was really no other way to describe one’s mate, married or not. “Partner” seemed like a cold word, suggesting business, and “partnership” felt downright office-y, like, “Hey, I made partner at my law firm.”
But now it seems the very best word ever.
No more having to explain and no more demoting your loved one to the ever-awful “significant other.” Significant other? Why not “considered participant in love arrangement”?
Apparently, we’ve really been searching for the perfect word because “significant other” is just way too much of a stretch. Significant other seems like it would come with an implanted microchip and an identification number tattooed on the lower belly: “Yes, that’s my significant other. Check her belly.”
I want a partner; a partner is the only thing that makes sense to me. And guess what? I don’t care if it’s a man or a woman.
I want a human — a kind, trustworthy human to share the rest of my life with. I’m not bisexual, nor am I heterosexual. I’m just me, this really interesting and talented woman who has existed on her own for many years and is now ready to open to the idea of a companion.
I remember years ago when Cybill Shepherd announced she’d be interested in having a relationship with a woman. She was old enough to know her own mind, and when she declared the interest, everyone went nuts.
It was as if the entire world, en masse, immediately pictured her in bed having lesbian sex, all night, all day, while holding up flags that said, “I hate men!”
When you say you want a companion of the same sex, everyone automatically jumps to the sex part.
It’s as if there’s nothing else we do with the people we hang out with if they’re our partners. It’s always sex, sex, sex. I suppose in those rare moments when Cybill wasn’t munching on snatch, she and her ever-thinking-of-pussy partner moaned about menopause, cried, talked nonstop and, of course, hated men.