I was dropping off my wife at her beauty salon, a sudden need to use the bathroom causing me to go in with her, so I could use their facilities. It was sudden, like one minute everything was fine, the next I had to go real bad. It felt like I was leaking a little as I walked towards the restroom, trying to hold my legs together to keep from letting go. I paused at the door, both gender symbols displayed on the same door.

I, me, the one with the rapid-fire gob, it was still hanging open, so I hauled it shut by pure force of will, and sought the right words, hoping to avoid the reflex “Didn’t think you were a queer”. I may be ‘queer’ myself by most people’s definition, but I had to learn about homophobia. I’m as straight as they come, in every double meaning of that word, and the idea of two men together had always been a bit ‘ick’ to my younger self. I know full well how wrong those thought are, so did my best to make it ‘were’, but my hindbrain still kicks in at inappropriate moments.

The next day my alarm went off at 6AM. I took a long soak in the bath. I was half looking forward and half dreading today. I won't lie the thought of dressing as a traditional maid was appealing. The dress I wore before was more of a costume. The dress today was the real thing.

“For all his flaws – and for all of mine – I’d just like to have my father back. Maybe now, after all these years, we can do better.”