Things a Phlebotomist Might Say*

"Which arm is best for you?"
"Roll up your sleeve."
"You may feel a little prick."

Nope.

"Why do you shave your arm hair?"

Keep in mind that I live my life as male full time. I had my annual physical recently, and the last part was having some blood drawn. A young woman entered the room, introduced herself, and swabbed the crook of my arm with alcohol. As she wiped, she asked without looking up, "Why do you shave your arms?"

For a couple of very long seconds, I rolled the question around in my head. Is there some medical issue I don't know about? Can I dare utter the truth?

Trying to buy a little time, I blithely asked, "What?"

She repeats the question. What kind of lie might work? I could use my old fave, which is a partial truth, that I really hate my body hair. But that is a symptom of something bigger, yes?

My voice might've cracked a little, but I said, "I'm transgender."

She turned to me and smiled. "Oh, cool! Do you, like, wear makeup? What's your name?"

"Leslie."

"Nice! Are you transitioning?"

"No, that's not gonna happen. I'm president of a local support group, though."

"Outstanding!"

So, I have now outed myself to a stranger in real life. Did not think that was in me, and it was a very uplifting event. I wish I had thought to show her some pics, just to have my ego stroked further.


*If you are too young or foreign to get the reference, this is a typical clue in the bonus round of The $25,000 Pyramid. This clip features the recently deceased Harry Anderson of Night Court fame.

Indulge Me

As a rule, I hate anniversary posts. I have stopped following bloggers who gave me five paragraphs about the seventeenth anniversary of first wearing lipstick.  So today I am being a bit hypocritical, making an exception to my own rule, but I promise there is more content than just a look back.

Not my first wig

Ten years ago, January 19th, 2008, I saw Leslie for the first time. Merely a concept previously, I finally put all the pieces together. The cherry, literally on top, was my first wig. It made a world of difference, as crossdressing man at last resembled, albeit crudely, a sort of woman. It was enough. I pushed down the urge to cry, and just stared at myself for long minutes.

This only just occurred to me, but leading up to that magic moment, I had suffered for months with a terrible depression. I was working my way out of it by starting counseling and joining TransKentucky. This period ten years later has also featured depression, the worst it has been in at least five or six years. Not as long lived, and largely cleared up now, it does seem to be signaling a need to take a step forward on the Leslie front.

Say yes to the dress!

For someone that dresses only three hours a month, I think my fashion sense and makeup skills have made a real leap this last year. I have some idea what looks good on me now. After being on the skirt+top train for years, I have recently transferred to the Dress Express.

Part of my recovery from the blues was making a hefty investment in clothes. In particular, $80 spent at ThredUp. I love this company. Gently used clothing, or even new with tags, for a deep discount. Yeah, they're secondhand, but that doesn't bother me. Anyway, I got 12 items for that sum: 2 tops, 5 skirts, 4 dresses, and a pair of heels.

All but one item fit, a little black dress that just could not make it around my rib cage. To show how far I have come with my wife, I suggested that she try it on, as I thought it might work for her. She tried it on without it being weird at all. It didn't fit her either, so I passed it on ro one of my minions at TransKentucky. The point being that I was able to be open about clothing, and she was able to hear it. And there was no shouting, no awkward pauses, no stinkeye.

That, my friends, is progress that I thought would never arrive.