In the car yesterday my mother wanted to talk about a case from one of her Judge shows.

In this case, a insurance payout was sent to a man who had died in the interim.  Since they had the same name, this man’s child cashed the cheque and kept the proceeds.  The brother said that the cheque should have gone to the estate and been disbursed in the same way as other estate assets, in this case, split three ways.  The judge agreed and ordered the money split.

Simple, right?  But, of course, that’s not what she wanted to talk about.  It turns out that the child with the same name as the father is a tranny of some sort, married to a woman, and coming to court dressed as a woman.

There was a long discussion about the circumstances of that dressing, how the brother and sister don’t understand but accept, and it’s the trans sibling who caused any split.  There was discussion of how the transperson isn’t gay, and would be a lesbian if they had surgery.

Now, what does all this have to do with the case?

Nothing.  Nothing at all.

Why was it even brought up?

“Because he came to court in a dress,” my mother said.

Yeah.  “He” was deviant, so he has to explain, defend and justify.

Of course, the transperson had few good explanations, since there is no language and no respect for transpeople in this culture.

But my mother saw it, and he was a guy in a dress, and that was it.

If all I can be is a guy in a dress, I’d rather die.

And I did, just a little, in the back of that car.

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