That’s right, I was in a Mormon situationship. And by “situationship,” I actually mean “pathetic, one-sided yearning neither addressed nor reciprocated for almost four years.” I came out way before Girl in Red turned everyone gay. As such, I learned the laws of dykedom early: the first, most important one being, “DO NOT FALL IN LOVE WITH A STRAIGHT GIRL.” The second law was, of course, “EITHER DRESS LIKE A LUMBERJACK OR ADAM SANDLER. YOU CANNOT DO BOTH.” 

My commitment to these ancient laws was tested in freshman year, highschool. I began a friendship with the sporty girls of my Geometry class. I had the privilege of their company and gossip for the paltry price of… doing their homework every day. Despite myself, I found myself interested in their lives. Or, the life of one girl in particular. She was a wrestler on the high school team, despite the disapproval of her parents. We talked candidly about her balancing act of being a girl, a wrestler and a Mormon. Eventually, our conversations turned to me. She once asked me how I knew. “Looking at you made me gay” was not an appropriate response, so I shrugged. 

We turned back to our math worksheets, and then I heard her say, “One time I thought I was a lesbian.” 

Oh. Oh no. 

What followed was an all-consuming obsession. I was thrilled every time she invited me to attend Church with her. I’m sure she only invited me because my soul was in imminent danger, but still! I had fantasies of meeting her parents, which then turned to nightmares of being sent home from her house with religious pamphlets. 

By senior year, I’d had enough. I resolved to call it quits, no matter how often she touched my arm or serenaded me with ABBA songs. I got a job over the summer, hoping that hard labor would cure my broken heart. As it turns out, she worked right across the street from me. Needless to say, I didn’t get very much work done. I did, however, get very good at staring out windows and sighing. The rest of the story is short; we ended the summer as co-workers across the road and she went on her mission trip to the heathen land of Oregon. I’ve moved on. 

… But hey, if you’re reading this as a Mormon missionary who smells like strawberries and likes to wrestle (in a strictly God-honoring capacity)… I’m still good at geometry.