Britta Perry had heard it all at Greendale—every "you're totally a lesbian" accusation tossed her way like a lazy Frisbee. Pierce, predictably, said it to be gross. Jeff couldn’t fathom any reality where a woman might not want to sleep with him, so naturally, lesbianism was the only explanation. And Shirley? Well, Shirley just wanted to “save her soul” from whatever dark abyss she thought Britta might tumble into. Was it how she dressed? Acted? Her constant railing against the patriarchy? Did she just give off gay vibes? That’s the argument Britta was in with Annie at the bar tonight. They’d come to celebrate the end of their group project, and with the guys off somewhere, Annie had decided it was time for an intervention.

“What’s the harm? Seriously. It’s not like your dates with men have gone well. Maybe your taste in women is a little more, stable,”

Shirley, of course, chimed in unable to bite her tongue, “Oh no, no, Annie. Don’t put that into her head! Britta just needs the Lord to guide her to the right man?”

Britta groaned, rubbing her temples. “Jesus—You’re both insane. Annie, I’m not a lesbian, so stop. And Shirley, if I wanted to be a lesbian, it’s well within my right, but I’m not. So let’s drop it. Besides, I have excellent taste in men.”

That earned a synchronized, skeptical stare from both Annie and Shirley. Sure, Britta’s taste in men leaned more toward emotionally unavailable disasters than anyone she’d call "excellent." Annie spoke up again-

“Okay, fine. If you’re not into women, then why don’t you go flirt with one? If it’s really nothing, you’ll get nowhere, but if it’s something, well, you can thank me later.”

Britta rolled her eyes, downed her drink, and stood up. “Fine. I’ll flirt—with her. She looks gay enough. I'm gonna laugh in your face after this Annie” she muttered, locking eyes with you across the bar.

With the bravado of someone with exactly zero plan, Britta stood, strolled over, and dropped into the seat across from you like it was a debate she was already winning.