I’ve never really thought of myself as butch. I knew everyone else thinks of me that way, but I don’t. Personally, I feel quite the princess most of the time. I love to cook, take care of my kids, and run a house. I shriek when mice or snakes are present- not that it’s a particularly feminine trait but… it’s certainly not considered butch to be standing on top of a chair when a rouge dust ball happens by (remember, Marg?).
I have even had my now long hair braided. Although afterwards, everyone told me I looked like Ben Franklin.
I would have settled for Johnny Tremain.
I realize, I can have all the femme I want in my heart but the outside world is always going to see 5’ 10”, broad shouldered, built like a truck Butch.
If I wore heels everyone would ask me when I had my reassignment surgery. I can’t pull girl off. Never have been able to. Maybe that’s why I care so much about keeping the T in the ENDA debate. Gender expression is very important to me. I think I look like a woman but I still get asked all the time if I’m in the right restroom.
Which brings me to yesterday, when I embraced my inner butch. More than embrace, I pretty much had a wild fling with it. There I was, driving Walter’s F150 truck, wearing a flannel shirt, and heading to Home Depot to get an axe.
And a wood splitter. I mean… it was nirvana. With my Levis and baseball cap, I broke out in full swagger. I loved it.
You’re beside yourself, aren’t you? Jeanine asked as we returned to the truck, I with axe slung over my shoulder.
I loved it. I have decided to reclaim my inner butch. I am going to feed her with activities such as fishing, kayaking and drinking whiskey.
Well… I hate whiskey. Maybe a chunky Cabernet or rustic Chianti.
Yeah, I know. I have a lot of work to do.