As Robyn once sang: I’m right over here, why can’t you see me? I think she might be singing about romantic rejection, which I know nothing about (obviously), but her words do resonate with my experiences as an invisible lesbian. Once you’ve progressed past the stage detailed in my first column (what I would call the ‘hapless chirpse’) another issue that arises is that basically no one ever believes that you’re on a date with a woman.

The erasure that young LGBT+ couples face is something that Varsity has touched on before, from the perspective of a man. However, I thought that the minefields of same-sex dating as a woman are worth exploring, and at times hilarious. Or maybe I’m just trying to impress you all by suggesting that – in spite of appearances in my first article – some women are actually willing to go on dates with me. Surprise bitch.

I think that the root of feeling like you’re dating in incognito mode is that people are so used to seeing close female friendships. This means that I’ve been on dates that have included anything from buying each other drinks, to playing mini-golf – the latter is frequently accounted to be a first-date paradigm where I’m from, it’s not just me, I promise. Buying a girl a drink results in you being widely considered to be a really good friend. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a great friend, but I’m also a raging homosexual, and it’s interesting how difficult it is to broadcast this affliction.

"Much like a masterful (and devastatingly gorgeous) Cold War spy, part of my personal life and identity is protected from strangers"

My dates have included a cute picnic in the countryside, complete with day-drinking and strawberries, or sharing drinks in a bar with an older, archetypally ‘butch’ lesbian. Yet I would say that most people are still more willing to believe that I have very special – and quite frankly adorable – friendships, than clock that I’m mid-way through some white-water grafting.

Yes, my ideal outcome would probably not be that people assume I’m on a date, but the wilful ignorance of so many people speaks volumes about some of the issues with heteronormativity and erasure that the LGBT+ community faces. I think a bigger problem is that when I’m out with male friends, I feel as though the people around us are quick to assume that we are on a date. The fact that people are more likely to think that I’m on a date with my loyal, sparkly male homosexual than with the solid 7.5 I found on Tinder is fairly whack.

If anything I’m as, if not more, uncomfortable with the ‘knowing’ smirks I get from people who assume I’m on heterosexual dates with my male friends, than I am about the idea of my steamy romance flying under the radar. I would even say that there are aspects that I enjoy about people not recognising that I’m on a date; much like a masterful (and devastatingly gorgeous) Cold War spy, part of my personal life and identity is protected from strangers. As gal-pals undercover, we are safe from the danger of being “that first Tinder date” in the bar.

Get rejected for feminism

Another bonus of going out with a woman is that you get to side-step the archaic, and quite-frankly problematic phenomena of the paying assumption, which, as a feminist, is endlessly fascinating. One of my bra-burning partners-in-crime suggested that she would be fine with this assumption, but only if the man explicitly states: ‘because the wage gap’ when paying – which, to be fair, sounds like a reasonable way for some of that 18 per cent to be spent.

Free from the mangy claws of the patriarchy, women are able to buy drinks as just a kind gesture. I’m sure that one or two straight men out there have equally good intentions, but as a queer woman it is great to be completely free from dating and finance’s somewhat murky past. Or maybe it’s because we’re all just really good friends to each other?

"Free from the mangy claws of the patriarchy, women are able to buy drinks as just a kind gesture"

Perhaps a more important point is that no one should really be assuming that anyone is on a date with anyone. I have a lot of admirers, and I have a lot of friends – sometimes even I’m not sure which is which, so maybe save yourself the effort of trying to unravel the impossible enigma that is my love life.

I’m a gal-pal undercover on an impossible mission, so don’t blow my cover