She didn't mean to. I should start with that. I am trying to be gracious to the trans woman who called me sir. I'm trying to not drag the trans woman who called me sir. I'm trying to not dox the trans woman who called me sir today, while helping me with a simple service (coffee? Help at a library? Front desk at a youth hostel? A cab ride to Capitol Hill in Seattle?). She didn't mean to. She couldn't mean to.

Why would she sir me? My voice of course, lower because I'm getting a travel bug. My lack of makeup, of course. My "unisex" cut t-shirt, of course (being a 400 lbs person means not getting girl cut shirts. Lesson 1. No cute clothing for you). My slight stubble, of course (traveling. Forgot razor.). My broad shoulders, of course. My potato shape, of course, of course, of course.

She was young, and tall, and skinny, and pretty. She had the right kind of piercings, the right asymmetry hairdo. She was wary. She was careful about talking. She wasn't trying to be unkind. I have to believe she wasn't trying to be unkind.

I came out in 2017, 36 years old. I have to tell myself there is a day when trans people will see me as one of them immediately. I have to believe that day was 10 years ago. I have to believe that this can never happen.

But it has happened. More than once.

Year 1. Year 3. Year 5. Year 9.

It keeps happening.

Estrogen helped. Pitching my voice higher helped. Being in trans places and letting cues happen helped. Being known around town (do you know Misha Moon?) helped.

And then I am sir'd by another trans woman.

I am not ok. I am not ok. I am not ok. I am not ok. I am not ok. I am not ok. I am not ok. I am not ok. I am not ok. I am not ok. I am not ok. I am not ok. I am not ok. I am not ok.

(Update: I'm heading home tonight. I woke up with a bad sore throat and after this I'm just...I don't know. I want to go home.)