Saturday, December 22, 2018

Space Invader

Yesterday turned out to be a busy day.

The day also wasn't particularly wonderful weather wise with a cold driving rain and winds up to 30 miles a hour. Not real good for a fashionable hair style of any kind but then again, I was facing again what any other cis woman was going through. As the day progressed, we managed to make it through a couple of packed grocery stores.

The final event of the day was going to an informal Yule social. At other socials, I became friends with a woman from Germany. We talked in depth about her homeland and my time there when I was in the Army. For some reason last night, she was rather frenetic. Not long after saying Hello, she said could she ask me a question. Normally that question is when did you know you were transgender or have you had any surgery. She asked me the "how long" question.

I answered without hesitation, most all of my life and I spent at least fifty years in denial as a cross dresser. All this time, she kept nudging me, which I have never particularly been fond of. Anymore, I almost never have to worry about it from a man but some women are just too touchy.

After the "Question and Answer"  session, she remained glued to my side and proceeded to comment on my hair which truthfully had looked better after coming in from the storm. She decided then my decision to let it grow out naturally (including the color) was a poor choice. By that time, I was tired of getting poked and comments which were none of her business, so I moved away from her. Which was tough, because we all were packed into a very small room.

As I moved away, the conversation had turned away from my hair, all the way to whose families migrated from where in the world. Since I haven't taken one of the DNA tests yet, I couldn't play with the cool kids.
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On the bright side, Liz and I made a pledge to join another man and his two daughters to head down to one of Cincinnati's German eating establishments for fun and beer. Ironically, one of the talking points was an Alaskan beer we both had discovered at our Christmas parties this week.

So, outside of the space invader's unwanted advances, I wasn't too bruised and managed to make it through the evening in one piece.

1 comment:


  1. Well, you could have told her that you'd written a book about all of that, and that she should get a copy. I know it's out of print, but it would keep her busy looking for it. :-)

    I dislike being nudged and poked, too. A gentle touch on the arm or hand is fine, as I enjoy platonic intimacy. Unfortunately, I am not prone to being the "toucher." I have a fear of having my affections misread as being sexual, just because my trans status may be misunderstood. This applies to both men and other women. Then, again, I have misread the touching by others as being platonic, only to discover that it was sexual. I have always been a bit naive, unable to readily recognize the difference between love and lust. I blame it, mostly, on the fact that I am a trans woman; a psychiatrist may have another take on it, though.

    We, as trans woman, should have the same rights as anyone else to set our own boundaries, whether they be physical or verbal. You didn't deserve to be subjected to her invasions, but I doubt she knows that now any more than she did while she was committing them. Some people are always going to act in predictable ways. We can only recognize that fact and make the choice to either put up with it or stay away. Just know that it's her and not you.

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