4048 Changing

Monday, June 1, 2015

"It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished
unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets."
 --Voltaire--

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Didja hear they caught a 3-D printer sneakily printing a 3-D printer?

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Why do they always give me cole slaw with my pastrami ruben? Can one overdose on cabbage?

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I watched the Diane Sawyer / Bruce Jenner interview the other day, on YouTube, and I'm glad I did.  A lot of my questions about what's going on with him were answered, and I'm left with a lot of respect for Bruce.

But (sigh) there's still so much I don't understand.  So many men (people assigned male, raised as male, whatever... I'm not sure what words to use) who want to transition to female seem to be obsessed with dresses, makeup, high heels, all the trappings.  I don't understand that.

I am 100% female, no question about it, and yet I can't remember the last time I wore a dress (caftans and mu'u-mu'us don't count), or the last time I wore a heel higher than 1.5 inches.  I did wear makeup to a Meetup dinner last Wednesday, but it felt strange (clownish) and I'm pretty sure that was the first time in at least a year. Clothes, shoes, lipstick and eyeliner don't make me feminine.  I'm not sure what does, but I guarantee everyone who sees me knows I'm 100% heterosexual female.

Seems to me these guys just need to get rid of the beard, change the voice, dump the muscles (hormones should fix all that), practice (slightly!) softer movements, and then just wear whatever's comfortable, like lifelong mature women do.  Don't go all girly, for pity's sake.  BE female!  Don't go all female impersonator.

But, like I said, I don't understand, so obviously I don't know what I'm talking about.

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This all reminds me of something that happened many decades ago, I don't remember when or where exactly, probably in the mid-70s.  Back then anyone contemplating a sex change had to endure major psychiatric counseling, and had to pretty much prove their seriousness through all kinds of sometimes humiliating exercises.

I was in a checkout line at a grocery store.  At the end of the checkouts, against the windows near the door, where everyone had to pass him? her? was a person. I'll use "him", because I'm pretty sure he was not very far into the process.

He was at least six feet tall, broad-shouldered, square-jawed, wearing high heels, a beautiful lavender dress with Victorian lace trim down the bodice, shoulder-length brown hair, matching earrings and bracelet set, perfect understated makeup, and holding one of those two-handled purses that, let's face it, no one runs errands with.  It was obvious he'd put a lot of care into his appearance.  He was dressed like for Easter Sunday services at a southern Baptist church, minus the enormous flowered hat.

It was also obvious he was supremely uncomfortable.  This was obviously an "exercise", a test.  Just standing there, being judged by every person leaving the store.

All the people in front of me in the checkout lane were whispering, pointing, rolling their eyes, and making no effort to hide it.  As they walked past him to the exit, they avoided looking at him.

Me?  I thought that dress was the most beautiful color I'd ever seen.  On my way out I stopped in front of him, looked at the lace front of the dress, and looked up (way up) at his eyes.  They were so sad, like he was begging me not to say anything nasty.

I smiled, and said, "That dress is the most beautiful color I've ever seen.  It looks good on you."

I have never forgotten the smile I got.   The light in his eyes.  I hope he made it.
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