Ma’am

Third time out yesterday after about four years.

First was New Years Eve at the gay bar where the owner accidentally used one of my email addresses to register a Facebook account.  Second was a trans meet-n-greet at the Pride Center.  Last night’s third was a business networking event sponsored by the Pride Center.

Lots of angst and agita before going in, but had a lovely chat with the director, saw an old friend, and learned again that my chat could be entertaining and educational.  Found a voice that worked, at least a bit.  That’s good.

Stopped to look at the MAC counter on the way back, and while no one was there, another clerk gave me a welcome and a big smile.  Great story 12 years ago at that MAC counter.

Went to Target to return a skirt.  Got my cash from the big, young black man at the service desk and walked away.

Then I heard him call “Ma’am.”  He had to do it twice,  because I just didn’t realize he was calling for me.  It turns out that procedures say that he had to give me back the receipt, even though I had returned the only item on it.

Transwomen tend to notice when the get Ma’amed, until they are out for a while, and then they notice when they don’t, which happens when judgment takes place.   Always aware of the situation, we are, unless we are walking in big armour, which many of us have learned to do.

I may have enough years in to look confident and pulled together, not needing affirmation and support.  No woman my age would expect it.  But I am both my age and newly born, almost born every day, and that is tough.

But one day at a time, and maybe I will learn to take being called Ma’am as just part of people seeing who I am.

Or maybe not.

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