Once, about seven of us were going
  up Avenue A by the Korean deli and
  up ahead this rasta guy smacked 
 his girlfriend in the jaw so hard
 that she fell back on a parked
car. Before I knew it I was right
up in his face, saying "You don't
hit a woman," over and over,
 which was all I could think of.
 I wish I'd thought to say "Why
  don't you go kick a dog or beat
  up some children if you're such a
   man," or "You gonna beat me up
    too, you so tough?" but I didn't
    until the next day. He just said
     "Mind your business," and we went
      back and forth like that for a
       minute. 

        Pretty soon his friends started
        clustering around me, and my
         friends pulled me away. His
         parting shot was, "You take care
          of your girls, I'll take care of
          mine," which I secretly liked,
          not only because he referred to
          them as mine (which I guess I
          should be ashamed for liking
          because it has the ring of 
         patriarchal possession or
         whatever), but also because he 
        implied that that was my role,
        to take care of my girls. There
       is a wonderful closeness and
      trust among most lesbians. That
     is what I want to do, take care
    of my girls.