February 10, 1995

by jkatejohnston

Dear Max,

Back in Santa Barbara.

Last night Teresa and I were walking home, and we heard a screaming fight between a man and woman. We saw her walking away fast and him walking after her and we stopped to make sure he didn’t attack her, which he didn’t.  Then somehow we got started talking about Teresa’s knife.  She always carries it with her, and I asked her if she’d ever used it on someone.

“Well, one time Judy and I got into a shouting fight. We were in a parking lot, and then she drove away, and while I was standing there some big guys yelled down, ‘Shut the fuck up, dykes.’ Of course I was drunk or I wouldn’t have been shouting in the first place, so I yelled, ‘Why don’t you come down here and say that to my face?’ and he yells, ‘Why?  What do you have in your pocket?’ And I go, ‘Why don’t you come down here and find out?’ And back and forth, very stupid.”

“Did they ever come down?”

“No.”

“Oh, Teresa, would you defend me!”

“Of course, Princess.”

“Would you defend me at the point to your sword?”

“Of course.”

“So would I! I’d defend you at the point of…of…”

“Your lipstick!” said Teresa.

Much later I asked her, “Am I a girly-girl?”

“You’re a girly-girly-girl.” 

“Have you ever liked a girly girl before?”

“I liked Audrey.” (Her girlfriend in high school.)

“She was a girly-girl?”

“Oh, yeah. One time we drove all the way to Bakersfield to buy petticoats.

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