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Image by Maicon Fonseca Zanco from Pixabay
My name is Leslie, and recently my brother-in-law asked me whether I preferred it pronounced "Less-lie" or "Lezz-lie."
I responded that when I was young I had some concern about "Lezz-lie," lest I be connected with the word lesbian. But then I turned out to be one, so I'm well passed that unease.
I added the remarkable fact that, of the four girls named Leslie in my high school class, three of us turned out to be lesbians.
With impressive comic timing, my adult niece sang out, "So it really was the parents' fault!"
I don’t know what made me comment. I guess I wanted you to know that you are not alone.
I hope you have a great evening.
I'm assuming you read that column in an LGBTQ newspaper, so I'm glad you made the effort to hunt me down here. I'm sorry you can relate! Yes, these conditions do wreak havoc, and can be very hard to talk about. Which is partly why I've gone and blabbed to the world in "Fun With Fred: Life With OCD and Hoarding." Doing my part to reduce the stigma. And to let others know they're not alone, either.