My other post was about my FIRST Gender Scream. This was my last one:
It was July, 3.5 years ago. I was on hormones since January, but still working as a male and not out at work. It was a professional shirt/tie job. My two male peers had big fat guts and looked like slobs in tucked in full-fitted dress shirts. I wore athletic fit dress shirts. We had a relaxed dress code if it was over 90 degrees; we only had to wear collared sport shirts. When it was over 90, I alternated between a guayabera and a Hawaiian print. They were two very expensive shirts with squared off bottoms meant to be worn untucked, that were femme enough that I didn't hate wearing them. Even on the hot days, the two slob-peers still wore dress shirts, that they sweated through by lunch.
One morning, I get called in onto the carpet by my female boss. Like the two peers, she's about 50% overweight. She's wearing a sleeveless black silk blouse with a keyhole neckline, knee-length dress shorts, and open-toe sandals. She yells at me something like, "How dare you wear a Hawaiian shirt, not even tucked in?!? You look like a slob yadda yadda, representing company yadda yadda bull->-bleeped-<-....."
In my head, I was screaming back at her. You fat cow, how dare you criticize my appearance? You sit there in your 2-ounce transparent blouse, and probably the biggest Bali bra they make still not able to contain you; in shorts I could make two mini-dresses out of; your double-wide feet bulging out of every crack in your sandals as if they were being pumped with helium, your painted toenails looking like the tips of a nearly-submerged coral reef poking up out of the vast ocean of flab that flows unbroken by visible ankles from your knees down - and say I don't look good enough to represent the company, but you and your cronies in mustard-spattered ties do?
