I got called "sir" twice yesterday. By two different people. That sure does suck.
This caused my femininity rating to fall about 6.8 points. If it falls another 4.3 points, I will begin to sprout chest hair and will feel the need to throw away my basket of collected berries to find a large beast that I can wrestle to the ground so I can eat its heart out of its rib cage.
Granted- I'll admit that I am what the vocabularized would call "androgynous." The non-vocabularized would call me a "can't tell if it's a man or a woman." However, I will say that 9 times out of 10, it's very clear that I am a female. It's just that damn 1% of the time, when I decide to venture out into the cold, harsh world in sweat pants, ratty converse, and my favorite Chicago Bears T-shirt that I'll be declared a man by all who do not know of my Cave of Wonders.
Even my name is one of those gender-benders... I know it's difficult to know what I'm talking about since I've never actually told you guys my real name- but it's the equivalent of the name "Terry." It could be a man's name... it could be a females name-- you just have to meet the person until you find out. However- with me, there have been times when, even after meeting me, people are still not sure exactly if I'm male or female.
You want to hear a horrific flashback from my childhood?
Ladeeleroy is excited about her first week of high school. She is especially excited to be taking a theater class that actually involves theater rather than watching old movies as was the curriculum in Junior High.
Oh! The glorious feeling of acting excercises! Oh! The first two weeks pass by wonderfully- my impressing the teacher and my classmates with my talent and skeeelz! Oh! How I was on top of the world.
The teacher divided the class up into guys and gals. Of course, I went to the gals side of the room.
"Ladeeleroy, what're you doing?"
"Um, Ms. Bitch Drama Teacher, I'm taking notes."
"No, no. I mean, you need to get over to the other side."
At first I thought it was a joke. I could even hear a couple of my friends that I'd made giggle a little bit, as it was clear to all of us that Ms. Bitch Drama Teacher was making a joke.
"Ladeeleroy! I meant it! NOW! Get over to the other side."
"But, you said that girls were supposed to be over here."
"Can you not follow instructions, Ladeeleroy?"
I started to feel that knot in my throat. My ol' friend Knotty McCryCry was in for another visit.
"I am following instructions, Ms. Bitch Drama Teacher... I'm.. I'm a girl."
The look on the teacher's face was one of suspicion.
"I'm not in the mood for games Ladeeleroy."
That's when Knotty McCryCry decided to move on into my sinuses. My pals- on both sides of the room- all started in with..
"Ms. Bitch Drama Teacher- Ladeeleroy is a girl.. she's a chick."
And that was when Ms. Bitch Drama Teacher realized that she had just cost me about $550 in therapy. But did she apologize? Oh, no. Oh no no no. She just said, "Well lets get started."
I cannot explain to you the awkward silence in the room. I cannot tell you how hot the top of my head felt or how hard it was to not want to jump up and throw mechanical pencil led into every eye that peaked at me. I was humiliated. Absolutely humiliated.
Of course, by senior year, everyone knew that Ladeeleroy was indeed a chick. And, of course, she was worshipped by all.
However, that one moment has always stuck with me... and I can still feel my head start to burn up when someone calls me "Sir."
Phew. That was a little tough to relive. I feel a little more exposed and naked.... which would be even more proof and evidence that I am a chick.
So what was my point in all of this rambling and bringing up hidden, dark memories?
I don't know. I just don't like being called "Sir."
A Possible Solution.