The Layers of Passing

A sunny morning turned into a hot, muggy afternoon and evening. I hope we don't have weeks of this kind of weather.  

Early in my transition, and before it, I dreaded the hot weather, and summer generally.  When the weather was cooler, I could wear more layers of makeup and clothing.  But, as the weather warmed and I wore less, it was harder to keep the missle in its silo.  It was also harder to make mountains out of molehills, or at least to pass without people noticing that I had molehills.  Now I have a range of hills:  two up near the ridge and another one to the south, near my midlands.

I don't believe I did what I just did:  I described my own body the way the boys I knew would talk, in the actual and metaphorical locker room, about girls' bodies.  Does that mean I should turn myself in to the political correctness police--or, egad, to "Dirt"?

Anyway...I tried all sorts of things to make myself passable when the weather warmed up.  And, whenever I went swimming, I hoped that things wouldn't pop out or wash away.  That's what happened to a gel insert I  wore inside the bra part of  my swimsuit, which bagged at my rear end and was tight everywhere else.  

Today I wore a short denim skirt, a mauvish-lilac (or lilacish-mauve) jewel-neck top and flip flops as I did errands and went to the new green market on Broadway.  I looked like other women my age, if taller and heavier than average.  It's been that way for a while now:  Most people don't give me a second glance; I'm called "ma'am" (and, every once in while, "miss") by store clerks and other people, and every once in a while someone flirts with me.  

Actually, there's a guy on the block who's been flirting with me just about every day, when I pass by him on my way to the store or the bus.  I don't think he needs a green card, so I'm guessing that he's lonely--or that he sees me as a challenge.  

He started flirting with me practically the moment I moved on to this block.  It was almost winter then; now, for all intents and purposes, it's summer.  He's seen me add coats and scarves and boots, as the holiday season turned into the dead of winter; and I've shed those layers--at least some of them.

It's supposed to rain late tomorrow afternoon.  Would anyone want to see me all wet?  Don't worry:  I won't enter any wet T-shirt contests.  But I want to go swimming.