The tale of a lesbian and her new doctor. Warning foul language ahead.

It has happened every single time I have seen a new doctor since I got married. 

I go in to fill out my paperwork, hand over my ID and insurance card and wait. 

It doesn’t take long before the whispers.Then they call out to me in the waiting room. 

I know what’s coming but before I can approach the counter they shout… 

 “Is your real name Jolynn?” 

“Who is Jolynn?” 

“Your what?” 

“Sorry, your … spouse?” 

Yes. Fuck. Thanks for keeping that on the low. 


They don’t do this to straight married women. 

Never would they say … “ma’am this card says Steve. Is Steve your real name? Who is Steve? Oh. Your husband? Is that right? You say Steve is your husband?” 


It would never happen. 

It would be unimaginable to think that it is the entire waiting rooms right to know that I am married  … and to who. Yet it has happened on multiple occasions. I happen to need to see an array of specialists and every single office has been incredibly *special* in the insurance process. 

Not that I am ashamed to have a wife.

I parade this rock  around on my finger  like a beauty queen wears a crown. 

When she is with me she is arm candy … like a sexy, smiling, human accessory that holds my purse and tells me my ass looks amazing. 

That’s not the point. 

I’m 100% sure when I get back to the waiting room they will ask if I am pregnant. 

Then they will ask how I can be sure I’m not. 

Today might be the day I explain it …loud and in detail. 

After all if we are sharing we might as well share it all …