"Honey!" I called from the laundry. "Can I put your new dress in the dryer?"
"I don't know," Sam yelled back from the hall. "I didn't check the label."
"Well, fuck it. It's getting dried." I grumbled. "I hope it shrinks. And catches fire."
Sam and I have a new agreement. He's not allowed to dress like a woman anymore.
He bought the dress by himself, at Savers, and texted me a photo of him modeling it. "Only $9 - can you believe it?" the message said.
Sweet Baby Jesus.
It was supposed to be funny, I know this. But it didn't feel fun, or funny. It felt.....weird. Uncomfortable. And it also - maybe because I do know several people who are transgender - felt vaguely mocking to cross-dress as a joke.
Sometimes my political correctness can lean towards the ludicrous. I know this.
But my "hangup" is a very real thing. The fact is, my husband was at a party wearing a dress, standing next to a guy who was dressed like a woman - and one of them was not joking. I was embarrassed. Should I have been?
I can't really say, one way or the other. Because fashion has evolved to such a point that most clothing is unisex, dresses are pretty much the very last bastion of femininity. The last frontier of womanhood. Bras don't count, because they are, in my opinion, strictly utilitarian. Bordering on punishment. No one should *want* to wear a bra. Sorry, I digress.
With or without a bra underneath, I think we can all agree that wearing a dress is definitely a bold move for a guy. Especially a spandex one. Maybe I was uncomfortable because it made me - for a moment - question whether he liked dressing as a woman. He seemed pretty damn comfortable in that dress, and enjoyed the convenience of his handbag a little too much for my liking. I didn't check to see if he had boxers on underneath, I just had to hope for the best. (And feel grateful that my thong wouldn't have fit him even if he tried.) He bought - and wore - lipstick. He left his long hair loose. From the back you would literally NEVER KNOW he was a dude. But then he turned around and you got hit with the one-two punch of a beard and copious amounts of chest hair, which caused veritable whiplash throughout the evening. I almost felt bad for the guy who grabbed his ass. To complete his "look", Sam stuffed the top of the dress with pink balloons, which added to the cartoonish quality of his appearance and kept things light. Lighter, anyway. I was trying to be game. Trying to play along. But I did not want his lipstick on my collar. When he leaned over for a kiss, I backed away.
When I announced that they needed contestants for the motorboat competition, and he jumped in line with those balloon boobs, well. That was my emotional last straw. The costume went from annoying to upsetting to, well, gross. Just..........gross. I couldn't handle watching men put their faces in my husband's pink latex cleavage. Honest to god, I would have preferred to have him motorboatING instead of getting motorboatED.
Man. I never thought I would say something like that. You see how fucked up this is.
To his credit, when he saw the look on my face he took the boobs out. And popped them for good measure. And later on, when I explained that I do not kiss - and certainly do not have sex with - men who are dressed like women, he got the message loud and clear.
I am an open-minded, enlightened, fun person. So why can't I just relax and have fun with this?
I don't know what my issue is.
I am very clear on my gender, far more comfortable in stilettos and miniskirts than slacks and a shirt. Steadfastly feminine, to the point that I feel uncomfortable wearing a fake mustache. You might be thinking to yourself: "Well, I don't see that as being much of a problem." And you would be wrong. I have gotten into *numerous* drunken arguments about why I am not wearing fake mustaches. I have been called a "stuck up little priss" for declining to stick fuzz under my nose. It is sad how many times I have had to say "Oh, no thanks, I don't wear mustaches. No, not even for a little while. No, not even as a joke."
They make my nose itch, for starters.
And when my girlfriends dress like men (and again, you would be surprised how often this comes up) I have the same creeped out reaction. When they lean in for a hug, I lean away. They look really....... manly. And I don't like it. Not one little bit.
So there it is. I know you have been waiting for the one thing that I can't handle. Cross dressing as a costume is my line in the sand, apparently. Turns out boundaries are awkward. Who knew? Thank goodness I have so few of them.
4 hours ago