When a woman takes another for her lover.

While sat in my post-colonial literature class last week I noticed that the girl sat opposite me was wearing dungarees. Now, these weren't some rehashed, modern, hipster dungarees. These were the real deal, fully-blown, pop your clogs, hide your daughter dungarees, complete with a Teletubbie pouch for Biros and knickknacks. I was aghast, as you may imagine. And then it struck me, as I looked around the room (something I positively dislike doing), that there are literally handfuls of lesbians clustered about the place. Can this be mere coincidence? I doubt it. This isn't the first time I've noticed carpet-munchers invading the English classrooms. There must be something about literature that they find positively appealing. Perhaps it is the act of reading itself, adopted at a young age, as a means of social escapism, that has simply carried through to adulthood. For men, lesbians are quite intimidating, especially these ones: gelled hair and tattooed biceps, empowered and angry (they wear dungarees for fuck's sake!). I'll have to keep my whits about me.