English: Mannequins wearing jeans in Sânnicola...The two pairs of jeans I ordered from Old Navy came this week. Yes, those kind of jeans. What other kind were you expecting? My work life as it is, I donned them for the first time on Wednesday and immediately launched into my new pants dance. I decided it was “too high risk” to wear them to work (of course, everyone would just “know” I was wearing female jeans). So I threw them on after I got back from training and headed out to my next laser hair removal session following by meeting with my therapist. Exactly no one said anything as I went about my day doing my own thing, including killing time before my therapy appointment.

What was different was me. No really. I mean I love the way they fit (yay HRT!) and how they look on me. But it was like I was a different person. I’ve always been expressive, etc that most MtFs seem to have to learn to adjust to (my years as gay weren’t a total waste), but I just seemed so much more comfortable with, well, myself. Happier too.
Maybe its TMI, or rather to avoid TMI, I dressed pretty much the way I’ll dress when “full time” is official. Granted that’s one thing that makes being a tomboy easy, but it is what it is. No one said anything, no one read me as female, but that wasn’t my intent either. I remember years ago going out in bad drag intentionally on Halloween to see if I could do it, I could. I suppose I was testing myself all the same. I think I passed. Yeah I need to work more in order to “pass”. But the proof that I don’t care and don’t seem to attract unnecessary attention to myself is there. It raises the question of what will define full time for me. That remains to be seen.

Fast forward to yesterday. As much as I’m moving forward with more Wednesdays; I’d made the tactical decision to wear my old (male) jeans in “high risk” situations. I’d made a vague plan to play disc golf with Chris. Chris was one of those “high risk” situations. I got a text from him to meet him in 30 minutes. I thought about changing, but decided I didn’t have the time and I’d just have to “go with it.” Chris, if he noticed, didn’t say anything. In fact it was the most fun I’ve had with him in a while. If ever there was an endorsement. You know me, I could write an entire post about Chris. Wait I have. I’ll save our disc golf date (in my version of reality, mind you) for another post.

I’m left wondering how many high risk situations remain out there (if I can make it work in front of Chris, who is arguably highest risk of all) and yet again, how will I know when I’m “full time” if I’m already dressing like it (in this case the standard tomboy polo shirt and jeans – for the record, I prefer a shirts, “wife beaters”, to actual bra’s and, yes, I was wearing one yesterday).

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