While at the neighbourhood supermarket the other day after fulfilling my role as a wage slave, I arrived at the cashier just as another trans woman was bagging her groceries. How did I know she was on a transformation journey? It’s who we are…
As I waited, I glanced around and noticed everyone in the general vicinity was gawking at this woman. To her credit, I could imagine the struggles she endures and being a woman is not a choice even though her feminine nature was burdened with a line-backer body and her skinny jeans and pink tank top beneath a zip up hoody and sunglasses shielding her eyes with a baseball cap pulled down over her shoulder length bottle blond permed hair and pink fingernail polish didn’t help her blend in to the world as a woman.
But who am I to judge?
She seemed nervous so I nodded to acknowledge her presence on the planet and said hi. I was dressed in jeans, blouse and tweed jacket and the only visible sign of my femininity was my ear rings (not that pierced ears makes one feminine) barely visible beneath my hair and the slight shape of my breasts beneath the jacket.
She studied me for a moment, nodded and went on her way. I have thought about her a lot since then. I have also thought a lot about me since then. Being a trans woman is not playing dress up with silk gowns, big hair and stilettos, stumbling home like Cinderella before the ball ends and your secret is revealed. If only it was that simple.
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