A couple of somewhat new additions to my life have been sexual harassment and objectification. Quite often these happen openly in the street. As I wasn’t issued a manual for this journey, I was fairly unprepared for just how often.
But at the risk of being kicked out of the union before I properly attain Womanhood, I’m going to admit something terrible right now. I sometimes quite like it.
Oh, I realise it’s entirely wrong, deplorable, etc, etc. But as a Transsexual Female, a part of me is fucking delighted just to be in the consideration. Every time it happens, it’s worth a small fist pump. Maybe even a l’il parade. I’m no oil painting but I am at least fulfilling the expectations of socially backward machismo on a reasonably regular basis these days. And it still feels like a Win if I am honest. Well, fundamentally shallow but honest.
In the cold light of day I obviously don’t agree with this sort of outmoded and unnecessary behaviour but as an unintentional yardstick, it serves a purpose. I’m somehow progressing, even if I don’t see it looking back all the time. And if I’m doing well enough to be inappropriately hit on? I’m sorry to you Sisters but I’m taking that all the way to the bank. And twice on Saturdays.