sandra-leigh
09-03-2010, 12:10 PM
(Steve Martin already used the title "Mindless Drivel")
My bust seems to be filling out a bit again even though I'm not on hormones. It would be nice if it didn't suddenly deflate like last time... that was hard on me :(
Wednesday afternoon, I got called back to get my picture retaken for the provincial ID card. The card requires glasses off, hair pulled back -- which, at the time of the original photo, clearly exposed my dangling earrings. The woman who took my photo the first time say my earrings, said "Oh.", and proceeded to take the photos anyhow, but the message I got was that they were not good enough. Of course my natural suspicion was that it had to do with the obvious earrings, but when the people at the desk checked the notes in my file and checked the existing photo, although the notes said something about "obstructing object", a second note said something about shadows, which turned out to be the real problem. The ladies there then "conspired" to keep my earrings on --- "Don't worry, we'll mostly bury them behind your hair" and the like. So my revised photo got taken with earrings as well (hoops this time though), with two women grinning widely. They weren't laughing at me, and never suggested or hinted I should remove the earrings: they were pleased to see me as open as I was, and pleased to be bucking the bureaucratic expectations. I encounter a surprising number of women who are pleased to see me in earrings or feminine clothes.
Wednesday morning, I had an appointment with my (male) GP, whose practice is a local mall. I was short on time so all I managed to toss together was earrings, forms, a dark brown suede top, and long brown pleather skirt. I came out to him last year, he dared me to wear something obviously female to the appointment, so I've worn skirts or dresses since. Called his bluff :heehee:. The other people waiting take it pretty much in stride, and some of the women take special care to include me in their conversations.
This time waiting was a bit unusual: one of the 30-ish males who was sitting several feet from me (but with a view of me) got up, made a remark to no-one in particular about not being able to wait any longer because he had a game to go to, crossed over to the other section of chairs, and sat down. As he went near me, I automatically raised the book I was reading so it wouldn't be in his way, where-upon he remarked, "Don't worry, I won't bite you." (?!) In his new location, he promptly made a bit of a bother of himself by chatting about odd things to a woman nearby. A bit of trans-phobia in action, it seems...
When my headache from half-listening to the fellow talk about his 730 pound home-made bicycle became large enough, I headed off to the washroom. In that particular mall in the corridor with the washrooms, the womens' is first, followed almost immediately by the single-stall "Family" washroom (which is what I usually use), and a little further down is the mens'. I was a short distance behind an older woman; she stopped in the entrance to the Women's when she noticed that it was being cleaned. I moved around her and tried the door to the Family washroom, which was locked as someone must have been in there. I turned back and shrugged, and the woman made a remark something similar to, "Unfortunately our washroom is being cleaned" -- and it was an inclusive "our", including me as a natural user of the woman's washroom. And so it was that without makeup or wig, I "passed" at very close range, at least to an older woman. Either that or she read me as TG and taking in to account my bust and skirt, decided that the woman's was the appropriate or acceptable washroom for me.
Thursday night, I went out to an adult bar, and was sitting alone. I was wearing larger forms over a black top, and wearing the brown pleather skirt, and had lipstick on, and enough foundation to cover my beard shadow. An older fellow ("nearly 70" he said) asked if I would mind if he sit down. It was a polite request, I wasn't doing anything particular, so I agreed. He was curious about me, wondering why I was there, why I was alone, why I wasn't there with my boyfriend or husband. He asked whether I was going to be one of the performers. He saw me as just about the only tall Anglo-Saxon around, and got mildly racist about the other clients. Later, when he saw that I'd paid close attention to one of the female performers, he came over and apologized, saying that if he had known I was that way (meaning lesbian), he wouldn't have interfered. Later yet, in asking me what I got out of being there, he asked me whether I was lesbian. In short, even though I only ever spoke in my normal voice, over the course of several hours there was no point at which he ever suspected I was male-bodied: he thought I was a woman.
My bust seems to be filling out a bit again even though I'm not on hormones. It would be nice if it didn't suddenly deflate like last time... that was hard on me :(
Wednesday afternoon, I got called back to get my picture retaken for the provincial ID card. The card requires glasses off, hair pulled back -- which, at the time of the original photo, clearly exposed my dangling earrings. The woman who took my photo the first time say my earrings, said "Oh.", and proceeded to take the photos anyhow, but the message I got was that they were not good enough. Of course my natural suspicion was that it had to do with the obvious earrings, but when the people at the desk checked the notes in my file and checked the existing photo, although the notes said something about "obstructing object", a second note said something about shadows, which turned out to be the real problem. The ladies there then "conspired" to keep my earrings on --- "Don't worry, we'll mostly bury them behind your hair" and the like. So my revised photo got taken with earrings as well (hoops this time though), with two women grinning widely. They weren't laughing at me, and never suggested or hinted I should remove the earrings: they were pleased to see me as open as I was, and pleased to be bucking the bureaucratic expectations. I encounter a surprising number of women who are pleased to see me in earrings or feminine clothes.
Wednesday morning, I had an appointment with my (male) GP, whose practice is a local mall. I was short on time so all I managed to toss together was earrings, forms, a dark brown suede top, and long brown pleather skirt. I came out to him last year, he dared me to wear something obviously female to the appointment, so I've worn skirts or dresses since. Called his bluff :heehee:. The other people waiting take it pretty much in stride, and some of the women take special care to include me in their conversations.
This time waiting was a bit unusual: one of the 30-ish males who was sitting several feet from me (but with a view of me) got up, made a remark to no-one in particular about not being able to wait any longer because he had a game to go to, crossed over to the other section of chairs, and sat down. As he went near me, I automatically raised the book I was reading so it wouldn't be in his way, where-upon he remarked, "Don't worry, I won't bite you." (?!) In his new location, he promptly made a bit of a bother of himself by chatting about odd things to a woman nearby. A bit of trans-phobia in action, it seems...
When my headache from half-listening to the fellow talk about his 730 pound home-made bicycle became large enough, I headed off to the washroom. In that particular mall in the corridor with the washrooms, the womens' is first, followed almost immediately by the single-stall "Family" washroom (which is what I usually use), and a little further down is the mens'. I was a short distance behind an older woman; she stopped in the entrance to the Women's when she noticed that it was being cleaned. I moved around her and tried the door to the Family washroom, which was locked as someone must have been in there. I turned back and shrugged, and the woman made a remark something similar to, "Unfortunately our washroom is being cleaned" -- and it was an inclusive "our", including me as a natural user of the woman's washroom. And so it was that without makeup or wig, I "passed" at very close range, at least to an older woman. Either that or she read me as TG and taking in to account my bust and skirt, decided that the woman's was the appropriate or acceptable washroom for me.
Thursday night, I went out to an adult bar, and was sitting alone. I was wearing larger forms over a black top, and wearing the brown pleather skirt, and had lipstick on, and enough foundation to cover my beard shadow. An older fellow ("nearly 70" he said) asked if I would mind if he sit down. It was a polite request, I wasn't doing anything particular, so I agreed. He was curious about me, wondering why I was there, why I was alone, why I wasn't there with my boyfriend or husband. He asked whether I was going to be one of the performers. He saw me as just about the only tall Anglo-Saxon around, and got mildly racist about the other clients. Later, when he saw that I'd paid close attention to one of the female performers, he came over and apologized, saying that if he had known I was that way (meaning lesbian), he wouldn't have interfered. Later yet, in asking me what I got out of being there, he asked me whether I was lesbian. In short, even though I only ever spoke in my normal voice, over the course of several hours there was no point at which he ever suspected I was male-bodied: he thought I was a woman.