Thirty years. Thirty goddamn years of training, deployments, and countless moves across the world, yet I come home to an entire generation who can’t tell the difference between an American hero and a woman who successfully dodged dick her entire life. Do you have any idea how exhausted I am? So please, I’m begging you, stop calling me a gold star lesbian. I am a female Brigadier General in the United States Army.
I’m not saying sleeping exclusively with women isn’t a lofty achievement, nor am I shaming lesbians at all. Hell, one time in Airborne school, I knocked boots with a female chef nicknamed “Beef” all for a few extra slices of bacon from the breakfast station. I understand sexuality is fluid. But the fact that Beef has been granted an equitable title to the one I worked my ass off for? Hell no! And I ride that line straight and fucking narrow.
I get the confusion. If you hold up a venn diagram between me and your top tier, red-blooded American lesbians, the overlap is uncanny. The majority of us beat out countless men for the job, we’ve all had our inseam measured at a Men’s Warehouse, and our parents won’t get off our backs about when we’re having babies. The major difference is I had to watch the live stream of Bin Laden being taken out by Seal Team 6 while y’all were buying succulents at Home Depot.
So please, while I understand the exclusivity of being a lesbian who has only ever boinked other women, I’m one of nineteen women in the history of the US Army to become a General. Show me some fucking respect.
