It’s been a week since my parents went south, and I have proved again that I can be a graceful, blendable, functional woman of transgender history, walking through the world.
Now, after a week, well, I’m bored. It’s been a long time since walking through Wal-Mart in pantyhose was enough to excite me.
I remember a crossdresseer lecturing me on how, to be a woman, I had to be dainty and appropriate.
I just looked at them and asked a question.
“Do you think,” I asked, “that if I had been born female, I would have been a mouthy broad?”
They gave me that look of mild pain that people so often do when a question pierces their premise.
“Yes,” they agreed. “I think you probably would be.”
A mouthy broad, a ballsy broad, a power woman. That guy at the hardware shop wasn’t a bit trepidations because he thought I was trans. No, he just knows that well dressed, big powerful women are people who can be challenging to men, even in a men’s enclave. (And no, I just bought the six 23 watt/100 equivalent CFLs and not the $2 drygas he offered me. Now I can have a good makeup mirror.)
I have done some good shopping in the three days I have been out, with clothes 60-70-80% off. I like shopping. But I don’t have that much money, and I don’t need that much stuff. After all the years I spent buying cheap crap to figure out what worked, now I know, and I have a kind of uniform, preppy meets art meets clerical. It’s creative and it works, and I’m too damn old for trendy anyway.
The number one thing I am denied in my family is expression, and what I wear is a small part of that. You may not know this, but I have a powerful voice, honed over years, and I have something to say with that voice. I know how to make connections, how to illuminate crocks and how to empower people, and I want to do that.
I don’t want to be nice and appropriate in someone else’s context. I can do that. I own that.
What I don’t own is my own power, my own energy, my own creativity, my own intensity, my own passion, my own Eros, my own connection to the divine.
And I am not going to find it by playing small and blending in at shopping malls.
Where the hell are my false eyelashes, anyway?