Friday, June 19, 2009

Glen or Glenda?

Circa 2004.
A young Andrew stands in line to buy a sausage sandwich at his younger sister's netball game. Sideburns blowing in the breeze, speckles of pube-like facial hair spread across his chin; he feels like a man. He writes about himself in the third person.

In front of him a tired looking woman wrestles with her restless daughter. The little girl twists and jumps and almost pirou-freakin-ettes right onto Andrew's foot. She immediately ducks behind her mum, embarrassed. Mum tells her to "watch the ladies toes".

Andrew is at work. A party of sixteen occupies the main table; they are not regulars. As lunch time dwindles most of them scatter. Three stay behind.

Andrew glides up to the table to collect their empty dessert plates. One man, an older gentleman, says: "Thank you ma'am." Not only is Andrew apparently female, he is also old as fuck.


Luckily he realised his mistake and apologised. I should have said: "It's nothing, I get it all the time, really. I'm actually dating a lesbian, I just don't have the heart to tell her..."

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