A Door Opens

Patience might be paying off. It's only been 18 months since I was first advised by a peer that I had to be very patient in waiting for the wife's approval. And I have screwed up royally several times during that span. But I've been on my best behavior this year, and I think her hard heart is softening.

I've been feeling very dysphoric for a week now, since she brought home those glorious sandals. I finally managed to share that with her at 5am Monday when I came to bed. She was half asleep, but awake enough to be slightly amused by what I was telling her. She wondered if I was uncomfortable with her becoming more feminine. I explained that I love it, but it comes with the weight of constant envy. She wasn't critical and seemed to be understanding what I was saying to her. Why not go for it, I thought. I told her that I was interested in going shopping with her sister's assistance. She didn't say anything, but I could hear the wheels turning. This was a twist she hadn't considered. She rolled over and went back to sleep, but I wasn't left with a sense of rejection or anger. I'll just let the seed germinate.

Tuesday night, I was chatting with my buddy Tina, telling her how stressed I was about my transness. She was in town for a couple days, and offered to drop whatever she was doing and accompany me to Payless if I got an opportunity. Did I mention how much I value that girl? I thought it highly unlikely to happen, what with my schedule and the fact that I wanted to run it past the missus, rather than sneak around as I have in the past.

As expected, Wednesday was not agood day to try to get away. In fact, I never got an opportunity to speak to the little woman about it. I got very frustrated, and barked at her in the evening, something I regretted immediately.

Thursday was a bad day, as my daughter's school is forcing us into due process. (For background, see Commence Rambling) This may not mean anything to many of you, but it's legal and unpleasant and the burden of proof is entirely on us. We will likely be home schooling my daughter in the fall. The idea of this scares me. I know it will be a difficult task, but the project mostly belongs to my wife. And with that, I've lost Ms. Quixote to a brand new windmill. The dysphoria was building again.

So, I mentioned my feelings to her again Thursday evening. She suggested that maybe I might feel better if I bleached my arm hair. An unusual suggestion from her, and remarkably empathetic, I thought. Then I told her of Tina's offer, and apologized for snapping at her, as I knew that she wouldn't approve but I wanted to run it by her just the same.

And then she said that she had no problem with it. She reminded me that I might be seen by someone we know, and that would be especially embarrassing if I was trying on heels in the store, but she said there's nothing wrong with men buying women's shoes.

Tonight, I'm treating my dysphoria by wearing my favorite dress and heels as I type. And I'm doing some self-medicating with a Kahlua White Russian I found in the fridge. I don't feel any less dysphoric, but I am tolerating it a lot better tonight. There's been a truce called in the cold war. Drink up, lasses.