Princess in Butch Underwear

I’m in New York City.

I helped give an award last night at City Hall.

I was getting ready to go and… I realized I am turning into a princess.

OKAY, some might say I’ve always been a princess. But now? It takes me forty minutes to get ready. I have to blow dry all this hair.

I’d wear eyeliner if I had it, I said to Jeanine.

Really?

Yes.

She looked at me.

Don’t worry, I said. I still have my butch underwear.

A Princess in butch underwear or a butch in princess underwear she mused. Which do I want?

Earlier in the day yesterday, I had asked someone why everyone comes to me looking for help.

Well, she said, you do come swooping in like an Amazon…

Amazon? Is that butch or fem?

Wonder woman Amazon, definitely fem.

Xena Princess Warrior? Definitely butch. And yet, she’s always in that little skirt…

But most importantly? Why am I playing with these gender roles now? I’m too old to learn how to wear make up. I don’t want to learn how.

Or do I?

When my colleague arrived at the event last night, she came over and gave me a big hug.

You look pretty, she said.

Tailspin. My gender identity flew out the door. I smiled and said thank you.

Later, I asked Jeanine. Pretty?

Yes, she said. You are a pretty woman.

Ew. I don’t want to be pretty.

What do you want? Handsome?

Maybe. No. I don’t know. I can’t handle pretty.

You’re the one who was going to put on eyeliner, she reminded me.

This morning? I pulled on blue jeans, a muscle tee and denim shirt. Phew.

Still took me forty minutes to get ready.

Princess that I am.

In butch underwear.