While working in an auto parts store and wearing the not so form fitting uniform, I have answered to “Excuse me, Sir” many times. It would be dishonest to say that it hasn’t bothered me. I point the foolish individuals to their needs with a polite blank stare and swallow the following:

“CLEARLY I’m a whole Queen, and the battery cables are on isle six! Damn!”

The most recent old man to get it twisted was corrected by his daughter. “Dad, that is not a ‘he’.” But he wouldn’t let it go like a person with any couth, instead he proceeded to lean in and out of my side profile as if adjusting the focus on his vision.

“What? Nooo?”

I looked at him as if I were about to shout “BOO!” and said “Yep, you never know what your getting yourself into these days, huh?” It was the nicest thing I could think of.

Since I was a little girl I have dealt with this same shit. Booger nosed elementary kids asking, sometimes in genuine curiosity and confusion, sometimes to insult me, “Are you a boy or a girl?” As a college student I had a canned response “You tell me?”

I don’t wear make-up & my features are uniquely neutral. I’m about 6 ft tall, pretty slender- could hide any trace of booty or cleavage in the right ensemble. Like, I really could be your fine ass boyfriend. My outfits are usually a wild concoction of men’s section gems, and thrifty women’s accessories. I used to have world record breaking long hair, now I’m baldheaded… no significant change in the confusion. Around age 23, I went through a fake ass “being more feminine” phase. Wearing a lot of uncomfortable, probably ugly, outfits that did not suit my personality at all, and only exaggerated my insecurity. I remember feeling awkward as hell. I also remember walking like a professional NBA player in several pair of toe destroying heels. Now, I have pretty much made it a rule, that I DO NOT wear hells.. I mean heels. They hurt and I don’t understand why anyone would willingly endure such abuse.

I embrace the idea of androgyny, but honestly don’t think deeply enough about it to put myself in that category. I just move through the world as myself, doing what makes me feel good. So, how do I adjust to the puzzled onlooker that will probably never cease to encounter me like a new species of gecko? Especially annoying: Men with their prying questions. “Oh you’re different huh? Do you date men? Can I take you out? You ain’t gay right?” Can you believe I used to answer these intrusions as if I owed an explanation?! Now, that I’m a bit wiser and have grown cynical, I let them know that they are all up in my business and dismiss them. My grandmother says that I should correct people when they address me as sir. I don’t have the energy and usually I’m not offended, just uncomfortable. I proceed with my food order in a voice that clearly belongs to a woman (or a stereotypical gay man) and move on. Maybe I should start having some fun with it! I could dress like a guy and see how many chicks bite my corny pickup lines. I could get one of those standing urination devices and mosey into the mens bathroom to see what that’s like. Hell, I could probably climb the misogynistic corporate ladder, only to whip my titties out after they promote me to CEO. “HA BITCHESSS! AND from now on, we don’t hire nothing but black folks up in here!” Now, that’s how you take life by the horns and ride it! I feel beautiful. I feel powerfully woman. I feel special because of my flexibility. And I just have to work on not catching an attitude with those who misunderstand my taper fade with the design on the side. I’m just their first introduction to this type of fly ass freedom.