And somehow, the talk always comes around to her new friends who are lesbians. She seems fascinated by these women, intrigued with their intelligence, their sensitivity, openness, creativity, warmth, courage to be themselves; she has nothing but admiration for them. As she goes on and on, I get more and more irritated, an irritation I attribute to the late hour and my need to get to sleep--sometime tonight, if you don't mind. And somehow my irritation gets transferred to the women: why doesn't she find some normal people to admire, why don't they leave her alone?

Sometimes, after one of the chats, I report to Jack, my husband: "I think Marcie thinks she's a lesbian." "Here she goes again," he replies. "She always has to try something different." "Another stage," I agree.