Flu? Sir?

I’ve been home all week nursing this flu.  I feel a little guilty about being out of work for a week, but I know it was the right decision, for both me and my co-workers.  It’s sick people like me who go into work and make other people sick, making viruses like this spread like wildfire.  I like to feel like I’m helping put some of the spread to an end.  Or, rather, at least keep it within my household.  Sorry, wife.

On a completely unrelated other note, I had two adventures out into the real world today, both of which involved people sir-ing me.  Now, I am no stranger to being sir-ed.  I practically grew up being referred to as my mother’s son by strangers in public.  I don’t actually even mind, as odd as that might sound.  I did get a free coffee once out of it when a Starbucks lady apologized profusely after mistaking me for a man.  I even had some therapy a few years ago, where I came dangerously close to transland, complete with picking out a prospective male name and all.  Here in the Fall/Winter time, it’s no surprise that cold and rainy weather equals big coats and hats, thus increasing the chance of being sir-ed.  Today, in store number one, a worker asked me if they could help me with anything, sir; in store number two, a lady warned her aisle-hogging husband of me, that fella behind him (me) trying to scooch by.  As much as I don’t really mind, there’s something very weird and perverse about being sir-ed and pregnant.  Maybe I should change the name of my blog.


Posted on November 20, 2009, in everyday, identity. Bookmark the permalink. 7 Comments.

  1. That’s awesome. And it’s awesome that you don’t mind people calling you “sir.” A few months from now those people will be looking twice! Sorry…but I love doing things (or seeing other people do things) that challenge people’s assumptions about the world. I hope that you are able to maintain your comfortably butch identity when the time comes that regular clothes no longer fit; and I hope that you aren’t made too uncomfortable by peoples’ double takes when they see your pregnant belly to go with it. I have to admit, there have been times when even I didn’t appreciate the attention I was getting because of my unusual style of dress, and I wished people would grow up and get over it. I hope those sort of occasions are few and far between for you.

    • It’s interesting – I’m not really an intentional genderfucker, as it were, like some folks are… it’s more of a side effect of who I am, mostly. At any rate, it will be a hoot once I start to show.

  2. if you change the title of your blog, you will surely get more hits from some strange and perhaps not so wonderful subsection of pornography consumers. That’s no reason NOT to to do it . . . I’m just sayin’ :}

  3. I have never had this particular experience, myself. I do have a close friend who is constantly mistaken for a man and has “straight bar phobia” because of it. I have, however, been asked twice (once in high school and once in my mid 20’s) if I was pregnant/when I was due.

    That one hurts a little, but the embarrassment of the person asking is ten fold!

  4. Ouch! I can imagine!

    You know, whenever it happens, I always say a tiny prayer in my head that the person mistaking me for a man just goes with it, even if they realize what they’ve done. Not like I’m getting secret jollies off of it, but when they apologize (and if they don’t have access to give me free coffee), it makes it that more awkward. Sir me, and own it, I say.

  5. My partner gets sirred with some frequency AND her baby bump never showed enough to be self-explanatory. Thus, her pregnancy was invisible to the point that people just assumed that I was the pregnant one. Awesome.

    I remember once instance where a skinny little Barbie chick gave M the nastiest glare for NOT holding the door and letting her go first into an office building. M was hugely pregnant and waddling, but all the chick could see was a rude guy not giving her props for her Barbieness. I wish I had been ready with a snappy comeback, but no.

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