Where's my minority button?

Bliss: weekend mornings cuddled in bed, coffee, NY Times, the cat (who, at 18.5 lbs, we have affectionately nicknamed "fatgirl") curled between us. Our second floor window looks out on a magnolia tree, and beyond that, an elementary school. It's almost noon. Ms. and I are tired after a long day yesterday riding Space Mountain at Disneyland. Life could be worse.
Between the Matterhorn Bobsleds and Splash Mountain Ms. asked me, "Do you think it's weird for people to see two girls holding hands?" I didn't think so, but in truth, I had been wondering the same thing. Did we attract more attention here, surrounded by a genuinely diverse crowd of American and international tourists, than we did in our Los Angeles bubble? For whatever reason, it felt so. "I think it's good," she said. "They see us, they see we're normal."
That's true, it is good, it's a large part of why we write this blog. But part of me wants to know when we get to stop demonstrating "normal" and get to just BE normal. Taking up a social cause is admirable when you're not also living the cause. When you're living the cause it can feel obligatory. This is not to discount the likes of African Americans fighting civil rights violations or Hispanic Americans leading protests against backwards immigration policy. To stand against discrimination is a laudable thing. But is would be a helluva lot easier to be able to turn off your minority factor sometimes. When Ms. puts her arm around me on The Haunted Mansion ride it's not because we're trying to make a statement to the Midwestern family sitting behind us. It's because I'm terrified of spiders.