At the wig shop the other day, I had an interesting experience. I had dropped off an ancient black wig for restyling and was picking it up. I had to wait for the lady in head of me and another customer came into the store.
The stylist was alone in the shop and said, “let me help her.” Now, what floored me was not that she was taking care of the other woman, but the stylist was talking about me. Somehow I knew that the “her” she referred to, was me, without even noticing the pronoun.
She used it again, and again. When I finally noticed, the pronoun took hold and I wanted to cry. Yes, I know the importance of pronouns for transgender people, but as compared to others I’m just beginning my transition.
I also know that transition actually begins at birth for all of us, but I’ll address that philosophical talking point in another post, suffice it to say, I am thrilled. after a life full of having masculine pronouns forced down my throat, I’m elated.
I am her and she. Not him or he. I am the woman and I always was. The black wig I brought was used when in directly inherited the thing. I hoped for a flat and straight style, because black always makes my head look bigger.
They weren’t able to give me what I wanted. It was just too old and thin, so I got a big hair style that, as predicted, makes my head look huge. I thought about red lipstick and white foundation. Maybe I could try some Gothic eye shadow.
On the drive home, I kept looking in the rearview mirror and I got an idea. I tied on a scarf to pull the height down. It’s my windy day look. What do you think?
*
ReplyDeleteI have been living in low-income since 2008 and have lost touch with niceties.
I recently travelled out of town and visited a friend who took me to dinner at a better establishment than I could ever afford. The waiter repeatedly called me 'Miss', That sound was music to my ears in so many ways.
Our waiter certainly deserves credit for his manners. He had no way knowing I rarely hear that from my limited contacts at the grocery, other places of commerce, and government where the employees are rushed.
He also had no way knowing how well he made me feel inside by his attesting me as a woman and making me feel good at age 59.
*