Last night we went out for a birthday dinner for Papi's step-sister.
Once I got the awkward brain injury greetings out of the way, everything went fine.
Of course, my brain injury embarrassed me yet again.
"Hi, nice to meet you! My name is Andréa," I would say with eagerness to meet 'new' faces.
Then it happened like it happens every time.
Papi says to my 'new' acquaintances, "Andréa has brain injury and doesn't remember meeting you."
aw for fucks sakes ...
Yup. I don't recognize faces very well since the epic bonk to the head.
As people came to join us awaiting the birthday girl's arrival, Papi would whisper in my ear, "Ok, so you have met these people before. Don't say nice to meet you."
Papi is kinda like my seeing eye dog when it comes to greetings.
It's so disconcerting to have to be in a setting where I don't think I've met people.
If I haven't seen your face for a while, or I've only met you once, you have to expect that I may have a brain injury moment.
Anyway, really what I wanted to talk about was what came after the extending of hands and the uncomfortable greetings I had to fake through.
Next came the genuine, "Ok, so we don't know these people," whisper from Papi and of course, after the 'nice to meet'chas' got out of the way, one of the conversation starters happened."
"So, how do you know the birthday girl?"
For some *reason, I was very chatty and decided to jump in and answer.
*reason: medicinal cannabis.
Not good to do when you've taken double dose of pain killers just to be able to sit at a restaurant. I am definitely more social when I'm hopped up on Snake Oil and the pain is not registering in my brain.
I stuttered, "She's ... "
oh shit, don't call papi a 'she'!!!
"She's the stepsister," I said in hopes that they knew I was talking about the birthday girl this time.
I was so relieved when I heard, "Oh! So you're her step-brother!" as they addressed Papi.
I was relieved that I didn't out my love, and then I was weirded out that they saw mi esposo as a man. It still gets me, because I still see my butch.
In my office I have a gorgeous picture of Papi with his shirt undone, and you get to see a hint of the breasts that used to be there.
No facial caterpillars on his lip, or wisps of little hairs sticking out, pretending to be sideburns.
The butch I married stays next to me forever remembered in a photo.
Papi and I were supposed to go to a friend's house and get more photos today.
Our friend is documenting the changes over time and I will definitely share them with you when they feel Papi is 'done' with the gender transformation.
At the same time mi esposo was getting these pics done, they were going to get me in there so that Papi and I could have some sexy pics to hold on to until we're old, wrinkled and flabby.
Unfortunately, the photographer had to cancel.
However, last night the Tranny Terrorist was up to no good practising poses for the shoot.
Bugger came around the corner with a Detachable Penis on, holding it in his right hand, looking like he was ready to pee. Mi esposo then asked if it would make a good pose for the documenting pics.
It disturbed my brain, "I don't like it," I said, "but maybe you should ask someone else. To me it just feels creepy."
Papi laughed and said he'd ask our photographer friend.
Now that we're not going out of the house, I declare today a pajama music day!
Pajama music day commencing ...