Over and out

I just want to say, it’s been great. It’s not you, wonderful readers, it’s me. We’re growing apart. I’d like to start writing for other people, but I don’t think opening up the relationship is going to be enough. Everyone knows how crap lesbians are at that.

But you know, when one door closes another one opens, and in the words of a horrible drag queen who once singled me out as the only woman-born-woman in a nightclub, there are plenty more fish in the sea.

What I’m trying to say is this is my last column.

When I started writing Pitch Bitch back in 2002 I was young and keen and out every second night. Now I’m not-so-young, not-so-keen and my friends are so excited every time I step into a pub they almost set up a guard of honour.

I had a fire back then, if not in my belly, at least somewhere near my midriff. That seems to have been extinguished, or perhaps suffocated by my ever-increasing home-owner’s paunch.

Whoever fills this space or another similar space in the future will come with a fire, a passion, or perhaps a more scathing wit than I can muster each week.

I hope I’ve raised awareness of particular lesbian passions over the years – for over-styled hair, well-cut jeans, stupid small dogs, sport, children, barbecues, crap television and beer.

I also hope I haven’t contributed to the myth that men and women in this community completely hate each other.

But mostly, I hope it hasn’t gotten boring. My life swung sharply in a different direction two years ago when my beautiful son was born, and even more so six months ago with the arrival of my perfect daughter. We’ve tried to fight it but lost – my girlfriend and I are quiet, happy, suburban mothers. I might still have a bit of pith to share about Australian Idol, but that’s about it.

And you, the most discerning, intelligent gay and lesbian audience in Australia, deserve much more than that. So, later. It’s been fun.