E very time I fall in love, flowers burst into bloom. Babies laugh when I pick them up. Birds sing when I enter the room. Friends poke me in the ribs good-naturedly and strangers point me out in a crowd.

Last week at the supermarket, as I was tossing eggplant into my basket and thinking about how it would feel to hold your eyes in mine over the ratatouille, a young but dowdy woman took one look at me, then averted her eyes and mumbled into her shopping cart: "These Lesbians. They're everywhere. They're following me. These lesbians."

"Is she talking about ME?" I thought. Two minutes later we met up in the cat food aisle and she started chanting into her shopping cart again: "Oh, these Lesbians. They just keep following me. They're everywhere these Lesbians. Everywhere!"

"Hmph ," I muttered into my own shopping cart. Out loud I said, "Lady, don't be afraid just because I'm wearing a black leather jacket and L. L. Bean hiking boots. Maybe I'm just a single woman with a cat - like you."

A few days later, I was bouncing down the street to catch the train to Your Place, when a stocky, Puerto Rican man pushed himself up against me and curled his lip into my ear. "Dyke," he spat.

My step was too jaunty, my demeanor too independent. My hair was just too damn short. I spun around to confront him. My fists were clenched. The hairs on the back of my neck were bristling. I opened my mouth to hurl some hurtful, racial epithet. I caught myself. I stopped. Out came the biggest, widest, toothiest grin I could muster.

As I continued merrily on my way to Your Place, all the flowers burst into bloom.