Recently, my honey and I got into a minor tiff over another woman. The woman in question? One Rachel Maddow. I just can’t help myself. It’s the jeans and t-shirts when she’s photographed off-air, and the clunky, nerdy glasses. It’s the joy she takes in debating the impish and bellicose likes of Pat Buchanan. It’s how her eyes get all twinkly and mischievous when she’s making with the snark, and the plaintive way she keeps asking people, only half-kiddingly, to “talk her down” when she freaks out about the scary state of things in our world.

In short, Rachel Maddow is brainy, butch and beautiful, and I totally want to have her babies. Never mind that she is practically married and I, happily girlfriended. Never mind that we have next to nothing in common. (I hate talking about politics and she doesn’t own a TV.) It doesn’t matter! My crush lives on, in all of its marvelous, silly glory. Hell, even my straight girl best friend has a crush on Rachel Maddow. We play fight over who gets to marry her.

But my girlfriend? She’s got a bit of a jealous streak. I mean, the girl’s a Leo with moon in Scorpio for cryin’ out loud. I get it. So there was only so much of me prattling on, moon-eyed, about another woman that she could take. And there came a point where the green-eyed monster raised its bumpy little head.

“Enough already about freaking Rachel Maddow!” said my lady love one night. My initial reaction was chagrin, but then my brain began to spin out femme logic like wispy spun sugar winding round and round one of those cotton candy paper cones. A light came on, and my chagrin gave way to feisty indignation.

Wait a minute, I reasoned. As a butch woman who digs femme women, my honey has enjoyed all her life the privilege of living in a culture where the kind of women she’s into are splashed everywhere in the media: movies, TV, books, ads, magazines... you name it! Beautiful, feminine women are all over the place! Meanwhile, when it comes to media representation, those of us who lust after butch women have long had to scrounge around for quasi-butch scraps! Let’s face it. Since The Facts of Life went off the air a kajillion years ago, taking with it the delectable Jo and her trusty motorcycle, frankly, the Boob Tube butch well has run dry!

So my response to my beloved? “There is finally, at long last, a recognizable and self-proclaimed butch dyke on TV five nights a week, and I am TOTALLY allowed to crush out on her. Dammit!”

My honey, gracious butch that she is, couldn’t (or, possibly, wouldn’t) argue with that. I’m still not sure if she was genuinely bowing to my logic, or just picking her battles. But at any rate, I am now enjoying my crush relatively guilt-free.

But what if my long-deprived, butch-lusting-after femme logic isn’t even needed here? What if I just embrace the idea that, even though I’m in a committed, monogamous relationship, it’s okay if other folks occasionally meander into my fantasy life? What if that’s just part of having a healthy attitude toward the nature of desire? I’m coming to believe that it is. Maybe it’s because I’m a writer, and the idea of putting limitations on my imagination is abhorrent to me. My imagination happens to be hardwired to my nerve endings. What’s a girl to do?

What about you? When you’re in a relationship, do you deny yourself fantasies about other folks, or is the racier side of your brain an all-you-can eat schmorgasbord of whatever (and whoever) strikes your fancy at any given moment? Does it make a difference to you and your sense of monogamy and morality whether you are nursing a schoolgirl crush on someone you know in real life or a celebrity with whom you will probably never cross paths? Do you and your girlfriend have those jokey lists of five celebrities you’d be allowed to have sex with if the opportunity ever came up? (And, if so, who’s on yours? Share with the class!) How do you feel about the person you love occasionally fantasizing about someone else?

And, perhaps most importantly, how freaking adorable is Rachel Maddow?