We find our heroine Cecilia and her two best friends at their favorite gay bar (the bar is their favorite due to its sole virtue of being the only one in the city). Cecilia peels the label off her beer with her long, painted fingernails, and gushes about her new girl.

Sally: Ah, look at Cecilia, stricken by Cupid's arrow I'd say.

Cecilia: (Seemingly embarrassed, but appreciative of the chance to talk about her new favorite subject, responds.) Oh stop it. We're just dating, I haven't exactly rented a U-Haul yet.

Betty: Hey, what does she look like? Is she the "butch" you've been looking for?

Cecilia: Well, I can't really tell, but I'm, sure she is.

Betty: (bantering) What do you mean you can't tell? You, for whom the world is--or ought to be--divided nicely into butches and femmes? You, for whom butch and femme are ontologic categories? You, for whom . . . .

Cecilia: O.K., I get your point. Its just that I met her on a video personal line and on the video it was kind of hard to tell you know. Her hair was pulled back and her clothes rather nondescript; she was handsome, though, I'm certain of that. Since we work different shifts during the day--and she spends her weekends consoling her sick grandmother whose farm is a couple of counties away--I rarely see her except at night, when she has a unisex robe on and her hair pulled back again.

Sally: I bet our femme Cecilia here has gone against nature (as she sees it) and has gone and fallen in love with--gasp of simulated horror--another femme!

Cecilia: Stop, it's not true.

Betty: Well, if it's not prove it's not, at least to yourself, for whom alone the matter seems to have any consequence. Tonight, when she has disrobed and fallen asleep, turn on the light--pretend you dropped an earring or something--and take a good look at her.

That evening, Cecilia takes Betty's advice and flips on the switch. Cecilia forgets about the lost earring as she gazes on her lover--whose golden locks fall into soft ringlets around her downy shoulders and whose silk negligee (sporting a very feminine butterfly motif) wraps nicely around her love's sleeping form. Cecilia gasped. (This gasp, however, was due more to her lover's beauty than her femininity, the latter somehow no longer seemed so important to Cecilia.) Drowsily, her lover waits for Cecilia to get back in bed and asks:

Looking for a lost earring?

Cecilia responds that she isn't looking for anything anymore.