QUEERLY TRANS
My Gender Spy Fuck-up Moment
I forgot I was in the closet for the day
Since it was Pride month, I was a little sad about going back into the closet to get some household repairs done. I thought I’d never have to do this shit again, having already come out as a trans man to almost everyone who knows me over the last couple of years.
It’s easy to forget that there are billions of people on this planet who still don’t know that I’m queer and trans as all fuck, and that there are still endless “opportunities” for me to try and pretend that I’m cis and heterosexual. There are always situations where it would be so much easier to just pretend that I’m both for just a little while.
The thing is that it’s getting harder and harder to pretend, no matter how much easier things would be in the Bible Belt if I could, at least momentarily. I’m rapidly losing connection to the imaginary world in which I can claim to be someone I’m not. It’s as if the closet door now has a faulty lock and I keep falling back out, even when I want to duck back in there for a few hours.
My wife and I argue frequently about whether we’re a gay couple
She thinks we’re gay because we’re both non-binary. I think we’re heterosexual because one of us is trans-masculine and the other is trans-feminine. Regardless, we live in a pretty queer and trans household. It took us significant time and energy to transform our house into a “neutral” place, erasing all meaningful trace of who we are in our own home to try and sell it.
If this helps us to escape the South of the United States to move to someplace where we’re welcomed by a larger percentage of the overall population, well, we’re doing what we’ve got to do to get out of here. Unfortunately, it seems I’m not as good at this gender spy stuff as I used to be back when I was in the closet full-time. I went back into the closet for a household contractor quote, but then forgot what I was doing.
I’m not as good at this gender spy stuff as I used to be
I had called and set up the appointment under my deadname, using the most womanly voice I could manage. The result was a bit husky, thanks to the Testosterone, but if anyone noticed, they didn’t say anything. The misgendering didn’t bother me so much because I told myself it was ‘Drag Tuesday’ and I was playing a game where I was trying to convince a stranger that I was really a woman. It felt like what I’d been doing my whole life: playing a role in some movie version of myself that was entirely inaccurate.
As the contractor mansplained the simplest things to me, I dived seamlessly into 35 years of training to deal with mansplaining and responded with my best awestruck gratitude, hoping it would help me get a better quote by endearing me to him.
“I had no idea! That makes so much sense. Thank you for explaining that to me. Why yes, that’s so generous of you to add a few extra inches in for me for free. That’s bound to add value.”
He expressed some skepticism that my spouse wasn’t available to approve of my incredibly generic choices, saying that in his experience, this had caused some issues before.
That’s when I screwed the pooch
I said, “Ohh, don’t worry! My wife and I already discussed this. They’re on board with whatever I decide today.”
I didn’t even notice that I’d said anything out of the ordinary by his standards, even as the silence dragged on, until he said, “Didn’t you say that your spouse’s name was [deadname]? I’m confused.”
I was facing away from him checking something on my phone while he typed up the quote, so he didn’t see my, ohhh, shit look. Perhaps I was being unfair, I thought, but I really did not want to have to explain this to a stranger in our house who may or may not become another problem for us to deal with. You never know who will turn out to be transphobic.
My gender spy instincts kicked in and I recovered by saying, “I’m sorry. I was just watching a movie before you came and I got the word ‘wife’ stuck in my head. You have the right name on file.”
He started laughing hysterically. I had made his day with that silly mix-up! He didn’t know what was happening there for a second! Whew! Hahahaha!
I snapped a picture of myself after he left and examined it. Had I put on a solid drag performance? Did I look and act like a real heterosexual woman? Is it obvious that I’m queer and a trans man? What do you think? Am I the worst gender spy you’ve ever seen?
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