So, there I am, right? Sitting on a toilet and thinking about what the heck I’m doing. The bathroom stall is a very introspective place for me, for reasons I don’t feel altogether comfortable discussing with you right now so quit asking, dammit. Now, this ain’t my first trip into a public bathroom, but it is my third time in the appropriate one. It’s still kind of weird to be going through the door with the picture of a trollop in a skirt above the word ‘ladies,’ but it seems appropriate given, you know, breasts.
I feel different these days. Not just in a tactile way (though I am at least 143% more fun to brush up against in an elevator), but also mentally. I don’t really feel anything like I used to. Trust me, this is a good thing.
Anyway, I’m just sitting there, asking myself a few questions. Why are the walls of this stall vaguely reflective? Did the waitress really refer to me and my lovely assistant as ‘ladies’ without any sarcasm or insecurity of voice/tone/intent? Why was mexican food a good idea again? Do my non-stealth breasts help me pass better than my pink Power Ranger hoodie, or vice versa? The answers are of course: just in case, yes and more than once, because it is tasty and planning ahead for gastrointestinal distress is for those who are afraid to live on the edge, totally boobs.
See, it’s not really that I’m in a stall waiting for the trapeze act in my abdomen to stop with the acrobatics, it’s much more that. For the first time ever, I was correctly gendered. Sure, I had abandoned my stealth mode (ran out of fucks earlier that day and didn’t want to go buy more since I forgot that coupon for 55 cents off a bushel on the fridge), but I was pretty sure my presentation was not adequate. I honestly wasn’t sure if I was being brave for being in public while not passing and not in stealth mode or foolish because I thought that I passed and didn’t. Of course, when a young lotion peddler in a mall compliments your pink Power Ranger hoodie, it doesn’t matter at all because you’re the Pink Ranger and no one messes with the Pink Ranger.
Compliments are a sort of strange. Is a compliment positive by nature of its own virtues or is the positivity dependent solely upon interpretation of the receiving agent? Metaphysically, a compliment must be a compliment even in a vacuum, independent of observer(s) or intended target(s). Of course, epistemologically, one could argue that a compliment is only a compliment via positive interpretation by observer(s)/intended target(s). If a compliment depends on interpretation, can any compliment be considered truly a compliment, given that a compliment must metaphysically be true based in its own virtues? It could be the case that, with particular observer(s)/intended target(s), a metaphysically false compliment could be interpreted as metaphysically true, making it epistemologically true yet still metaphysically false by definition, through the unintended action of misinterpretation. Does this misinterpretation of a false compliment into a true compliment create a metaphysical shift in the compliment to make it true? For all intents and purposes, this misinterpretation will indeed change a metaphysically false compliment into a metaphysically true compliment. With a solipsistic world view, this is necessarily true. Of course, with a solipsistic world view, everything is true, isn’t it you cheeky devil.
So, as the Pink Ranger, I was seen and identified correctly while eating mexican food. The waitress did not change back at any point, and as far as she (and a few other folks in the restaurant as well, bringing my total up to four (yes, I am going to keep count)) was concerned, the only penis I had ever interacted with were ones attached to other people or synthetic psuedo-penii potentially containing an unbalanced weight swiveling around an axis with velocity sufficient enough to shake the whole of the apparatus. So, I guess I at least somewhat pass, which is pretty awesome right now.
Apparently some time recently, I started presenting full time. I understand it’s usually more of a deliberate switch, or at least has some ceremony about it. I think I just kind of went for a walk and it seemed like a good idea. My stealth mode was pretty crappy anyway. I’m sure I can still pull off boy mode if I had to. Actually, it would be a pretty accurate boy mode, because I’d be cranky as heck and surly as the dickens. It’d be just like the old days! It is better this way, anyway. Promises.
Since then, I have near completely abandoned any semblance of stealth. I don’t even bring my armor along anymore. I seem to be putting a lot of faith in my ability to pass, which is kind of scary but also exciting. It’s kind of like the lottery, you know. ‘You can’t win if you don’t play,’ right? Except when you lose the lottery, the potential for violence/abuse is pretty limited. Most times, you just gain an extra square of toilet paper.
No comments:
Post a Comment