Popsicle Toes

As most of you know I am yet to be a full time gal. But there is one part of me that is always full time, this bit fully transitioned over a year ago and complains to the rest of me, "hey catch up". That bit, is my toes. Yeah, they transitioned pretty quickly. The reality is it happened in a single event last March (March 2009 that is).

The venue was a nail salon in Harrisburg PA, I was presenting as myself in a public place for the very first time. It was a trans convention, the hotel was next to the salon. And it was here that I had my very first pedi presenting as my true self. I was indeed nervous of course. There are a lot of unwritten protocols in such a place. Rules that are followed, procedures, expectations. I felt awkward and a bit unsure of these things and it showed in my interaction about how to hold a hand or foot for work to be done, a lack of anticipation in the choreography of the thing. As I have stated before, if you are like me, "born in my late 40s", it is expected that you know how to be a woman, at least in the eyes of others. So you are forced to tune that knowledge up quickly.

So I asked the girl to give me a "french" on my toes as I expected to have the same on my fingers, which within the hour manifested itself as a full set of nails. They were awesome and I felt so good about it. But this goodness was short lived.

As I sat with fingers under the UV dryer I noticed, to my horror, that my breast forms had slid down to my middle, of course my nails are wet so I can do nothing about it. I was totally puzzled as to why this had happened. Then it dawned on me, my bra was undone. The culprit, the massage fingers in the pedi chair. That flirtatious bastard had unhooked me like the football captain in the back seat of the car after the big game. You know, one handed. And now my lovelies were about to fall out of my top and on to the tiled floor in the salon. What to do you ask, well me too.

Since I knew my pea coat fits pretty well, tightly, and it was on the rack behind me as soon as I felt the nails were remotely dry I tried to put it on as gingerly as possible, one for fear of wrecking the nails and two for fear of a flesh tone "chicken cutlet" spilling out of my chest and plopping onto the floor. I was lucky as this was the kind of place that does not finish the work until you pay, they hit you mid cycle with that and so my need to open purse for anything, other than keys was minimal. And so I made my escape. Pretty toes, pretty fingers, and boobs where your 85 year old grandmother has them. Pretty funny really for my first solo flight by myself.

The next incident was when flying to SCC in Atlanta. By this time I had upgraded the toes to color, a nice berry one, very pretty. No of course not yet having the courage to fly enfemme I was my drabself. Now here was the part where I spaced. I usually wear some slip on shoes, I call them my faggy shoes, with no socks. And it did not dawn on me until I was in the TSA Security line that I would have to remove my shoes and show off my pretties for the world to see. While in line I started to laugh about it. It was not like I could do anything about it. I mean, there were no socks to be had, I could not go buy some, I would miss my plane. And so I waited my turn.

While waiting in line I texted a few, in-the-know friends, about the fact that I was going through TSA without socks. I mentioned not a word about my painted toes, they all knew I almost always have them painted. I got back some real chuckles but the one that hit me the most was from a Transman friend. His questions were like, gee do you have foot odor or something? Bless his male soul, he had not a thought in his head of my uniquely part-time transwoman dilemma. I love it when circumstances among transpeople expose their true self, in his case it was perfect. I am pretty sure he, in his prior life, may have never, ever, even considered painting his toes. In the end I took the shoes off, put them on the conveyor and not a word, or even a glance, was uttered by TSA folk, and after retrieving my shoes I was on my way. Nice, and nothing, at the same time.

The most recent episode of this was when I was out with a real estate agent looking for property (drabself). We enter a home, and there is a big sign inside the front door, please remove your shoes. I look down, damn, no socks again. I tell the agent, sorry but not taking my shoes off and walking this house in bare feet. He says ok, but if he only knew the reason. Of course that would require some detailed explanation, and one that I was not willing to engage in at that moment. The next time I was with him I wore socks. And a good thing, there was another sign requesting no shoes at the next house for examination.

So this begs the question, what changes have we all made that we feel the need to hide regularly. Nail polish, nail length, hairlessness, pierced ears, other? Bits that are growing or shrinking? How do you cope with that? Lately I have been asked about my increasingly long hair. "Pony tail?" they inquire. I say "eventually", or "going retro". I got accused of having Jeff Bridges (the tall one, you know the "dude") haircut. My answer is yeah, I'm doing it because I can.

And so I expect this will not be the last episode of this kind of thing for a bit. What is funny is if you are full-time, nobody cares about this anymore, you are just normal for doing, being, acting, presenting this way. And I look forward to that freedom.