Just got back from church. Wow... My head would be spinning, except things worked out pretty much exactly as I expected. Well, I guess it is spinning. Things working out as expected is a pretty rare occurrence, truth be told!

I've been attending a Quaker "Meeting", which is what they call church, for about 3 years now. It's a pretty great place, in my humble opinion. They have policies of equality that are unsurpassed by anyone! Despite our state not recognizing same-sex marriages, our Meeting refuses NOT to perform them, and even though the state doesn't, the members of our Meeting consider every couple married there to be in the care of God and the Meeting. Ever since the Stonewall Riots, Quakers in New York have been in the forefront of gay rights, witnessing for Peace and Equality, first as a buffer between the police and the patrons of the tavern, and then as a participant in the first and every gay rights and Pride parade since. Straight, gay, young and old, Quakers stand for equality, not just in viewpoint, but in physical presence and practice.

So, it was without much nervousness that I got dressed this morning, in my nicest summer skirt and a simple, black, short-sleeve top. I had never been to Meeting "dressed" before, although I did march en femme in the Pride parade last year with the Quakers. There might be some pictures on line if you search hard enough.

And, by "without much nervousness," I mean with no more than usual. I'm very self-conscious about wanting to look my best when I head out of the house. Jewelry and accessories were all over the bed as I tried to pick what to wear. The real point of aggravation was trying to figure out how to get out of the house and off my street without being seen en femme by the neighbors. It's a densely populated area of mixed ethnic and socioeconomic strata. Not your sterile vanilla suburb by any means. I've slipped out of the house at night before, but this was broad daylight on a Sunday morning. It took a little more artifice.

Putting my lipstick and blush in my purse, I spent about 20 minutes doing the rest of my makeup. Basically, that means foundation and powder, and eyes. It's 90 degrees out, and that was this morning. I don't even know how hot it got after I left the house. So, I tried to use waterproof everything. And, after searching the house fruitlessly for one of those paper hand fans that we probably tossed out years ago, I found a smallish piece of white cardboard to use and put that in my purse, too. Our Meeting House doesn't have air conditioning, and it's been hot here for days. I figured without a fan, all my makeup would end up in my socks.

I pulled a pair of khakis over my light cotton flowery skirt, being sure to stuff the bow in back and the rest of the self-tie belt inside, and put on a loose dark linen short sleeve shirt over my top, outside my pants. The bra I had on has very soft, seamless, unpadded cups, so with my breastforms in a carry bag, my chest looked unremarkable for a male. A pair of wrap around sunglasses hid my eye makeup. You wouldn't notice the rest of the makeup from a distance. Even closer, it was fairly unremarkable unless you were looking for it.

I pulled the car up in a parking area near a power station, pushed the driver's seat all the way back, and pulled off the extra layer of clothes. All I had to do then was put on my women's shoes, my jewelry, the lipstick and a little more blush.

Finished, I pulled back on the road and drove to the neighborhood where I usually park. I found a space only about a quarter mile from the Meeting House. Walking to Meeting was a very light-hearted experience. I kept checking myself out in the reflections of the storefront windows, and I thought I looked pretty good. No one stopped and stared, but this is Brooklyn, so I may not have met the criteria for that even if I was wearing a wetsuit and flippers.

Walking through the door, I got a typical welcome from the greeter stationed there. I'm not sure he recognized me then. Going upstairs to the large Meeting room, I was going to sit in one of the less visible corners, but those were already crowded, so I walked right in to the usual spot that you'll usually find me, and sat down. The way the room is laid out, it's a rectangular room, there are benches arranged parallel to every wall, in sections, so that the groups of benches all more or less face the center of the room, and each other. One wall has fewer benches, and the front one of those is called the facing bench, since I guess it faces most of the people in the room, except for the few benches behind it. Anyway, that facing bench is where the person who drew the short straw that week sits to preside in front of the Meeting. As the Meeting starts in silence and is pretty much self-directed, there's not all that much to do except read the regular announcements at the end. The woman sitting there today is, and I had no idea this was going to be the case, the nominal head of the LGBTQ concerns committee. I had been to her apartment for a committee meeting before, and had "dressed" for the occasion. She recognized me right away, and smiled and nodded in my direction.

There were a few looks of recognition and smiles. Afterwards, there were a few handshakes, hugs and cheek kisses. And smiles. And, an "I love what you're doing." And a few compliments. But, almost disturbing, but very sweet, a number of people came up to me and asked me what I wanted to be called when I was dressed like this. I felt I let them all down when I told them just to call me by the one name they already knew. They seemed almost happy and expectant that I would give them another name and they could use it to practice accepting/accommodating me by using it when I dressed this way.

On the way back to the car, I almost stopped at a fashion accessory store to buy a new hat, but I decided to save that for another day.

If my heart was any lighter now, I would float away like a helium balloon.