This could be my closet
At dinner last week, one of the kids asks me if I have more flannel shirts like the one I had given him to wear in his school’s production of Annie Get Your Gun last year.
“I don’t know. Why?” I ask.
“It’s for a friend,” he says, “whose parents think flannel shirts are too masculine.”
“Is she a lesbian?” I ask.
“Trans,” he says.
“I don’t know,” I say. “If his parents don’t want him wearing flannel shirts …”
I pause again.
“Look, I don’t agree with it, but he’s not my kid,” I say. “I can’t be some underground supplier of flannel for your friends.”
He nods his head.
Underground supplier of flannel, I say to myself. I sit a little taller in my chair.
“I’ll take a look at my flannel shirts in the next week or so,” I say. “I probably have some I don’t want. I’ll give them to you. They’ll be your flannel shirts. Whatever you do with them, that’s your business. I certainly can’t be responsible for what you do with your clothing.”
“Got it?” I ask.
“Got it,” he says.
I feel a little bit like a hero. Passing on my used flannel shirts to kids who need them the most.
A second skin.
The intersecting horizontal and vertical stripes forming hundreds of tiny crosses as they cover a new body.
Posted in Being Butch, Gay & Lesbian, Gender, Kids, Uncategorized
Tagged butch, clothing, fashion, flannel, gay, gender, kids, lesbian, LGBT, masculinity, queer, trans, transgender
Imagine Miss Daisy in flannel and Doc Marten’s.
W and I ran some errands this weekend. As is our routine, we completed them Driving Miss Daisy
fashion with W driving and me riding along in the passenger seat. This is what happens when you are an old married couple with way too much to do on a Saturday afternoon.
W prefers to drive, and I prefer to be driven. I’ll wait until all the giggling stops before I continue …
Anyway, I’ll jump out of the car to run into the drycleaner or return something at the hardware store. And there’s W waiting for me curbside.
This weekend while we were running our errands, I stopped inside a Starbuck’s to grab a late afternoon pick-me-up and use the restroom. It was one of those deluxe Starbuck’s, and I found myself walking, walking, walking to get to the back of the store. In back, a gaggle of college-age girls gathered around a large table studying and chatting and sipping giant plastic cups of coffee through long green straws. They had painted fingernails and long hair pulled back in various fashions or stacked on top of their heads.
In the midst of all of that femininity, I braced myself as I approached the bathroom. Without thinking, I put on the invisible armor I wear whenever I need to use a public restroom. I steeled myself and prepared for anything.
And then I turned the corner and saw two unisex bathrooms. I felt my heart lift and my shoulders relax. I think I heard Sarah McLachlan singing “Angel” somewhere.
In no time, I returned to W and our great errand excursion, a hot cup of joe in hand.
Posted in Being Butch, Gay & Lesbian, Gender, Life, Relationships, Uncategorized
Tagged bathrooms, butch, errands, gay, gender, genderqueer, humor, lesbian, Starbuck's, trans, transgender, unisex bathrooms, weekens