(no subject)
The weekend before last, my parents visited. My father had been wanting to have a long conversation with me for a while, and mentioned (in that Way that parents have) that he'd really appreciate it if I found time this summer. My parents had to pick my sister up from her job at a summer camp in MA anyway, so they drove up to visit.
We decided to go to the beach.
Which meant I had to get something that I was comfortable wearing, at a beach. Easier said than done. My first idea was to get a one-piece bathing suit, and wear some board shorts over that. Yeah. Not so much. After trying pretty much all the likely one-piece bathing suits at three different sports stores, I've concluded that women with my torso length are expected to have well in excess of my bust size. I mean, I knew this, but I thought I might be able to find something that would work in that department, but it was not so.
This is perhaps a good point to mention how shopping for a bathing suit, which is probably not the most relaxing thing at the best of times, is way stressful if you're visibly trans. Yay for melithiel agreeing to come with me, to lend a little comfort to the experience.
So the third store, as I've picked out a couple of things to fruitlessly try on, has a staff member required to open the fitting rooms. Oh shit, I have to interact with someone... huh. Someone who is reading pretty much as male, but I notice they're wearing a binder*.
A giant ball of tension immediately leaves me. Maybe this doesn't have to be so hard. This staff member and his** manager/housemate (who seemed presenting somewhere around soft butch) end up spending the better part of an hour helping me methodically work out that no, they don't make bathing suits for me.
But I do fit in to running tops. And running tops can look a lot like the top of a bathing suit. It'll do. So many thanks to the staff at H^2 City Sports.
The next day, the beach. I had a long discussion with my father, walking back and forth along the shore as the tide went (really far!) out. It was stressful, but not really too heated, which was good. I managed to explain at least a little of my reasoning around gender stuff, and how the decision wasn't really made on a whim or anything. I think my parents spent so much time questioning my decision that they hadn't until now stopped and listened to me describe how I made it. I am glad I'm getting the chance to describe it now. It still feels a little too much like defending, talking to them about it, but a lot less than it used to.
And then back home, where nodesignation was staying with me for a couple nights while she was in Boston, in another episode of internet-people-becoming-real. Yay for discussions that included gender that weren't stressful, any more than getting to know a person you know mostly from text can be stressful.
And last weekend? Last weekend was comparatively quiet :)
* Item designed to flatten the chest, if one happens to a less-flat chest than one wants
** I'm pretty sure that's the correct pronoun?
We decided to go to the beach.
Which meant I had to get something that I was comfortable wearing, at a beach. Easier said than done. My first idea was to get a one-piece bathing suit, and wear some board shorts over that. Yeah. Not so much. After trying pretty much all the likely one-piece bathing suits at three different sports stores, I've concluded that women with my torso length are expected to have well in excess of my bust size. I mean, I knew this, but I thought I might be able to find something that would work in that department, but it was not so.
This is perhaps a good point to mention how shopping for a bathing suit, which is probably not the most relaxing thing at the best of times, is way stressful if you're visibly trans. Yay for melithiel agreeing to come with me, to lend a little comfort to the experience.
So the third store, as I've picked out a couple of things to fruitlessly try on, has a staff member required to open the fitting rooms. Oh shit, I have to interact with someone... huh. Someone who is reading pretty much as male, but I notice they're wearing a binder*.
A giant ball of tension immediately leaves me. Maybe this doesn't have to be so hard. This staff member and his** manager/housemate (who seemed presenting somewhere around soft butch) end up spending the better part of an hour helping me methodically work out that no, they don't make bathing suits for me.
But I do fit in to running tops. And running tops can look a lot like the top of a bathing suit. It'll do. So many thanks to the staff at H^2 City Sports.
The next day, the beach. I had a long discussion with my father, walking back and forth along the shore as the tide went (really far!) out. It was stressful, but not really too heated, which was good. I managed to explain at least a little of my reasoning around gender stuff, and how the decision wasn't really made on a whim or anything. I think my parents spent so much time questioning my decision that they hadn't until now stopped and listened to me describe how I made it. I am glad I'm getting the chance to describe it now. It still feels a little too much like defending, talking to them about it, but a lot less than it used to.
And then back home, where nodesignation was staying with me for a couple nights while she was in Boston, in another episode of internet-people-becoming-real. Yay for discussions that included gender that weren't stressful, any more than getting to know a person you know mostly from text can be stressful.
And last weekend? Last weekend was comparatively quiet :)
* Item designed to flatten the chest, if one happens to a less-flat chest than one wants
** I'm pretty sure that's the correct pronoun?