What just because Huma Abedin is a gorgeous babe who manages to smell like fresh lilacs even on a sweltering campaign bus in the middle of a summer, means I’m having a secret, sweaty sex fest with her? This is beyond absurd. If I were a lesbian, why would you assume that knockout Huma is even my type? Maybe I’m a femme, going for butch types with their squat physiques, angular jaws and ubiquitous cynicism. The point is there are many types of lesbians that I could go for.

Whereas a Lipstick lust after tan goddesses like Huma, a Chapstick lesbian is hot for average soccer mom types (Martha Stewart) and/or has dry lips. Sapphists are lesbian women of high culture, who like to wax about gendered constructs within hierarchical discourses over an ’89 Bordeaux before going downtown.

Or maybe I just have a thing for Japanese women. There’s not even a name for that. But I know this, they’re hotter than Koreans. Mama likes them mousy.

Diesel lesbians are lesbians who fix their own cars so are you going to assume that because I own a car, I’m into greased up, bandannaed Rosie the Riviter types?

One thing is certain, if I were a lesbian I would be a bottom. I know what you’re thinking; lesbians don’t have tops and bottoms like gay men, and if they did, wouldn’t I play consensus lovemaking and not align myself with either party? Nonsense, any fool could see that my repressed sexual alterego would yearn to be dominated.

So maybe what I really want is to be a homosexual male submissive. So what? They’re no surgery for that, so it doesn’t matter even if I did.