Every morning, I look like a shaman blessing the air with a tea towel.
Do you have one of those fire alarms that goes off when you make toast?
If you do, then you know what I'm talking about. While my 2 eggs cook in my miniature iron pan, I wander around waving a blue and white terry cloth.
sans caffeine for 2 weeks **sobs** ... i'm on a food cleanse ... ouch
All I know is, if there is the remote fear of a fire, we're good. However, that doesn't count emotional ones.
You know, since Papi and I have both been blessed with the Brace Face, there's not too much heavy kissing going on. I guess that's why I dreamed that Papi and I are making out the same way we did before the bomb was dropped and I cried sitting in a La-Z-Boy for 6 weeks.
Then when the braces came, well yeah, the kisses are little pecks most of the time.
It was nice to wake up to a dream about nookie with Papi.
One of the last things my love said to me last night before I dozed off into my sexy time coma was, "Honey, can you please not roll your eyes every time I talk about someone who's become an F-M?"
I knew this was going to be conveyed, because while the Americans were invading our house, there was another outing of another F-M, and I, in all my opinionated glory, rolled my eyes.
I know that most people who go through the male transformation really are transgendered, however I fear for the young bucks who feel like they'd fit in better if they joined the crowd.
I have spoken about this before, but I really do think that when you're 18/19/20, you just don't have the life experience to figure out who you are.
And is there something so wrong with being a minority within a minority?
Butches are beautiful.
Butches are special.
Butches are becoming an endangered species.
I just need to know that there will be some butches left for the femmes who adore them.
So yeah, when I hear of another butch being pricked by the needle with poison, going through modern day mutilation, and asking the world to change their personal pronoun ...
... leaving all of us stuttering while trying our best not to insult ...
... I roll my eyes.
another one bites the dust.
Yet, I am hurting my love's feelings when I show my disdain. So it will now have to be curbed and kept for my inside voice, until I am with the femmes on my Trust List who are also feeling the pinch of our butches leaving us.
One of my Blogger Friends, Tricia, made a great point. That when breasts are removed, so is the tact.
Yesterday, Papi called that 'murdering tot mom' ...
... no need to put a name here ... we all know who i'm talking about ...
... a slut.
My Trust List Yank and I looked at each other a little shocked, and from out of the Yank's mouth came, "You sound a bit slut-phobic."
There was laughter, but it just sounded odd coming from Papi who back-stepped saying, "I'm not, I really don't care, I'm just saying ..."
It's interesting, because it seemed like Papi no longer was allowed to call a woman a name, because mi esposo has denounced all ties to femininity.
Sorry my love.
You will be getting flack for speaking like a guy now.