Band-Aids & Styptic Pencils

No, this title doesn't mean I got to remove any hair. Rather, it refers to the balm applied to the knife wounds described in my last entry. It's actually a good thing. It provides a welcome respite from the unrelenting negativity on this page lately. What a drama queen!

My wife is full of surprises. After our tiff Saturday night, she decided to look up some info on gender identity on the web. She highlighted stuff that supported her argument--that I need to remain manly. She presented her materials Monday night.

This discussion was a conversation.

From the Standards of Care, she wanted to draw attention to the difficulties encountered by many during the Real-Life Experience. She seems to think that I only view transition as milk-and-honey. Ha! I always sweat the details.

From the DSM-IV, she highlighted a passage on transvestic fetishism. Yes, now she wants me to be a crossdresser! I copped to the fetish aspect, at least until recently. Since January, when I first laid eyes on Leslie, the sexual component has disappeared. Now, when I look in the mirror, I don't see a guy dressing up, I see the woman that I know resides within.

She admitted that if we had no children, she would consider letting me remove my hair as an experiment. An easy concession, as we do have children. But I planted a seed. Over the winter, I have never worn shorts around the house, always sweats or PJs. I also rolled up my sleeves no more than three or four times. My point was that I am capable of hiding bare arms and legs during the cold months. Perhaps next fall...? She wanted to shoot down the idea, but had no ammo. I'll let the idea simmer for a while.

All in all, not a lot of new ground broken, but we both got to make our points, and it was civil. That's progress.