well, so yesterday i wanted to go pick up a few blouses, but i was nervous 'bout having to use the men's changing room. i had a very girly blouse on, and my boobs were rather noticeable. also had on some very painful earrings.
so i called my sweetie Lisbeff and told her how scared i was. and she goes, "Well, most stores really don't care where you change." and i said, "but a few months ago, the lady at Sears growled at me and directed me to the men's changing room."
then she told about a bunch of times when she got ruded out by store clerks, while buying girl-clothes in the early days of her transition.
"Finally," Lisbeth said, "all you can do is either go to the men's changing room, or, screw up your courage and go to the women's."
i said, "Ok, i'll do it!"
i made one final check of my accessories and thought, "uh, maybe i need a hair treatment."
so i put in a barrette in my frizzy hair.
when i got in there, the lady who counts the articles of clothing just smiled at me, and said, "go ahead, ma'am."
then i walked in, still terrified, but no one objected. i had been accepted in female space! i felt it was such an honor. i still feel very humbled by the experience.
as i was driving, on the way there, i saw a group of young women crossing the street. they were just out and about, enjoying the sunshine, and all of them could have been symbolized by the female symbol of a hand mirror, intersected by a comb. all except for one, who was wearing a bright yellow soft cotton top which showed that she was extremely pregnant. for her, a mirror and a comb just wouldn't quite do justice to her beautiful image. how could men, or anyone, see her and think she were somehow inferior? she, a living aspect of something truly sacred to us?
-Ellie
