One incident too many, apparently. My cousin-once-removed, whom no one in my immediate family had seen in ten years, mistook me for a boy at Thanksgiving, to be corrected by my father. Today, word of the incident got to my mother. It resulted....in a shopping trip. Curses.
She brought it up in the car, on the way to theatre rehearsal. Her reasoning went something like this: You have to think about other people's feelings. When they think you're a boy, and then learn you're not, they get uncomfortable. And it's not fair to them, in fact, it's almost sociopathic, if you enjoy making them uncomfortable. So, for their sakes, you need to look like a girl. We're going shopping after rehearsal. Unless you can talk me out of it.
My argument was, I'll admit, incredibly weak: I... I don't know why, but I'd rather... just, like... maybe... not correct them at all or something. Just let them keep their first impressions. Because.... somehow... having people think that, it gives...validation? ... to the male side of me. So, if it's uncomfortable for them to be corrected, I'd rather just not correct them.
We're going shopping.
At rehearsal itself, I consulted a castmate, codename Jude, who is an active member (to the extent that anything involving that club can be called active) of the Gay-Straight Alliance. I don't know what manner of help I expected from him, especially as I was unable to frame a satisfactory question to ask, but he might not have been too much help in any case because he was high on marijuana. So he kept saying stuff about how he was eager to be a listening ear, and how he could perhaps try to help turn the next Gay-Straight Alliance meeting toward talking about... something... as opposed to whatever it does most times.... and how he had vaguely unresolved queeritude of his own, and suchlike matters somewhat related to the subject at hand, but also lots of other stuff about how high he was, and how little of a help he would probably be because of it, and how everything seemed kind of like a dream to him at the time, and something mysterious about how he'd always been a bit shy of talking to me, out of 'respect' or somesuch... I don't know. What I gathered was, we could talk sometime, when he was sober, but not soon enough to forestall a shopping trip.
So the shopping happened. Oh yes. My mother insisted upon looking only in the women's (or the 'juniors'' - whatever that is - or even the 'girls'') section of the department store. And, naturally, everything was horrible. Or at least very much not my sort of thing. We ended up buying (despite my rather weak protestation) a green shirt and a sort of dark-grey-purple coat. They're not so bad. I'd even like them if they didn't promise to serve exactly their intended purpose: marking me out as a member of the female population.
On the way home, my mother and I discussed the matter again. Neither convinced the other of anything. And I really don't know quite where any of this will go from here. I don't know much of what's going on, really. I hope Jude and I find a time to sit down and talk and mash out some sort of plan or at least some sort of solid idea...
Postscript: I couldn't think of a relevant title, so I used one that sounds like it comes from Super Duck's random title generator, but in fact does not - it comes from the fact that my mother is a vampire and cannot eat asiago cheese. Which, yes, has no relevance to anything.