accept. embrace. live.

I pass, or blend, or assimilate, or present, or whatever word it is that I'm supposed to use, well. I don't get clocked based on my appearance anymore. So you'd think that I'd be past fretting about it, no? Au contraire, ma soeur.

I had delivery guys coming over yesterday afternoon to deliver my New-Years-Cliche-Treadmill (NYCT). The guy called me to confirm the time and I tried my best voice, but on the phone, it's tough. They looked somewhat surprised when they saw me. I had a couch that I needed help moving. I offered to tip them extra, but they refused to move it. They said it was for insurance reasons, but of course I wondered if they had clocked me and that was the real reason they wouldn't help. Probably not, but I just can't help myself with these thoughts.

Then I had to make a grocery run. The checkout woman was around 60. She didn't read me. We chatted about our kids, about good things to put on a Coco Pop, and about the fact that she accidentally rang up 178 yogurts, when I only bought 7. I told her about the NYCT and she asked me if I watched what I ate. She then looked at me and said, "Well, of course you watch what you eat. Look at you, you're skinny." I am *not* skinny. I weigh 163. That's not skinny. I'd like to weigh 145. That'd be skinny for my frame. Anyway, it was such a nice little conversation. Loved it. Of course, as I walked away, the devil over my shoulder was telling me that it would have been different if she "knew."

Finally, I had dinner with a friend at this place called Jimmy's. Jimmy's is a well-known local watering hole/wing place. They have poker nights, football nights, etc. For whatever reason, when I first transitioned, I thought to myself, "Well, there's one place I'll never be able to go into again." Why I thought I'd never be able to go into this specific place anymore, I don't know. It's a very guy-ish place. Perhaps I feared being a trans woman in a space that caters to men.

I arrived at Jimmy's first and when I came in, one of the wait staff looked very hard at me, gave me the once-over, twice-over. And of course you know what went through my head.

"Omg. Goddamnit. I look cute today. How did she read me? You've got to be kidding me. Wow, I can't believe she read me from looking at me for five seconds. Damnit. Now I have to go to the bathroom and she's probably going to chase me down and ask me exactly what I think I'm doing in the ladies' room. I knew I shouldn't have come in here. Ugh."

I finished up in the ladies' room and came out. There was the waitress again. Uh oh, here it comes.

"Ha ha! You know who you look like? You look just like my friend Sophie. I couldn't imagine why Sophie was in here, that's why I looked at you so quizzically. Ha ha!!"

Ha ha, indeed. *exhale*

So then my friend comes in and sits down. She's not one that gets read, either. She looks great. Same waitress comes over and says to her, "ha! When you came in here, I knew that's who you were looking for." (me) My friend and I give each other these looks like, "what? because we're both trans?" At this point, I'm completely confused. I have no idea whether she read us, or not. It doesn't really matter, of course, she was nothing but nice to us the whole time. If I had to guess, I'd say that she didn't read us.

This is exhausting. I will be so glad when I get to a point where success or failure is not measured by "Did I get clocked?" The funny thing is, in all those interactions above, if I was a betting woman, I'd bet that no one clocked me all day. And look at all this mental energy I am expending.

Anyway, now I need to get my looks-skinny-but-isn't body downstairs on the NYCT and work off some of the wings, beer, and Beef-on-Weck that I consumed last night.

Oh, crap. Wings, beer, Beef-on-Weck. Girls don't order wings, beer, and Beef-on-Weck!! *That* must be how she read us.

Kidding, sort of. :)