I’m Disgusted—Who Cares About Him

I was shopping in the local thrift store looking for my size, and happily finding choices. More on that later, but an old fart and his wife walked into the store.

I say old fart, not because he’s aged. (He wasn’t much older than me), but because of his attitude. I was perusing the feminine racks dressed in masculine mode. I noticed the old fart because of his animated conversation with his wife. He was glaring at me and his thoughts were obvious.

I shrugged it off and went back to finding some great deals on pretty clothes. Before leaving, I saw the old fart again. I seemed to be his favorite irritation. The disgusted look on his face was priceless. I included a picture of Bill Cosby. His look is similar.

I’ve seen several reactions to my shopping over the years. Most of them were mitigated by my confidence in what I was doing, but that old fart wins the prize. Makes me wonder how much cross dressing he’s been doing.

You see, in my experience, most transphobia is a cover-up for people who think they are abnormal, but they can’t seem to overcome their addiction. Then like crabs in a bucket, pulling the escaping crabs back in, the old farts poke fun and pretend to be shocked and offended by those who honestly try to understand themselves.

As boys, we were taught that men don’t shop in the women’s section. When our wives and girlfriends take us with them, we must pretend to be miserable, like the men in the other picture.

Things are changing, but there are still a few old farts out there. Who cares what they do? I’m still big enough, and grouchy enough, to have taken the old fart apart at the knees, but I’m learning to let go of my ego.

Still and all, it was a great shopping trip. I came home with two pairs of capris, a white sleeveless blouse, and a beautiful pair of black pants to match my black blazer. All in my size, which brings me to the other point I alluded to.

I recently shed a little unwanted fat. Now, I can find my size on the racks in most stores. It’s not the size I want to be, but it’s gratifying. If the old fart knew how happy that makes me, perhaps he would’ve minded his own business.