Sweet lady kisses

Sometimes I’m amazed a show like “Glee” makes it on to network TV at all. It’s not that we don’t deserve to see the subject matter (and jazz hands) that “Glee” broadcasts. It’s not that the subject matter is even terribly progressive (watch some British TV, it’ll remind you why the Puritans left in the first place). But it’s just that this is America, and we don’t like it when our teenagers are gay on TV. And we don’t really like it when our gay teenagers on TV have sex. And we really, really don’t like it when gay teenagers on TV talk about their sex as “scissoring” – partially because they then have to run to Urban Dictionary and look up scissoring.

Also, I have just two words to say on the whole Brittana situation: CAN. ON. Canon, baby. On screen, no ambiguity, totally scissoring, endless sweet lady kisses canon. I know it wasn’t much (but, come on, it was the only kissing in the episode), but it was total cake for people who have been scarfing up every single Brittana crumb since the beginning. Speaking of the beginning, who wants to reminisce?

Sex is not dating. Scissoring is not dating. Sweet lady kissing is not dating. Only wanting to make lady babies and singing “Come to my Window” is, apparently, dating. Or is that being in love? Oh, Santana. Denial is a long and winding river through your heart.

Speaking of denial, it has become impossible to deny that Brittany is not just experimenting. She isn’t just in a phase. She isn’t just promiscuous. Brittany is gay. She might be bi, she might be lesbian – but she is definitely not straight. Wanting to touch Coach Beiste’s boobs. Calling Brittany Spears hot. Telling Santana she is still mad at her, but she is still so hot. GAY. So gay. So, so, so gay. Also gay, that no-boobies-for-you gesture she gave Santana.

For all its flights of incredible (Where’d all these matching outfits come from when we have no budget?), unapologetic (Who needs plot when you have dancing?), irrational (Seriously, do these kids have any other classes?) fancy, what “Glee” has consistently gotten right is the gay thing. Kurt’s struggle, both the come out to his father and be the only out gay kid in the school, mirrors the experience of so many other gay teens. His triumph, week after week, is a promise to everyone watching that it really, really does get better.

Similarly, Brittany and Santana’s relationship (because that’s what it is even if you don’t want to admit it – cough, Santana, cough) also mirrors the relationship so many young women have with each other. You fall in love with your best friend. You fool around. You hope your best friend falls in love with you. You don’t label it. You do deny it. You go out with boys to cover it. You make each other jealous. You practice the Lady and the Tramp meatball nose roll on your own. Fingers crossed that Ryan Murphy The Universe allows those two crazy kids to end up together. They so are this show’s best OTP.

“Glee” can be ridiculous and nonsensical and totally lacking all semblance of a narrative storyline, but it is also super, fabulously, scissorifically gay. And for that I will always be thankful.