3. I see you, judgy suburban neighborhood lady.

I see you, walking towards me with your suburban mom haircut and suburban chic water bottle, giving me side-eye as you fast-walk by me in your fancy running shoes .

Yeah, I’ve got baby-birthing hips and bouncy boobs under the blue crewcut, inside these men’s clothes and work boots. Deal with it. Men’s sizings fits more comfortably. My women’s underwear fits comfortably too. I would wear makeup if it wasn’t so expensive. Face decorating is fun. ( Except lipstick. I hate lipstick. Bring back lip gloss, dammit! I miss my 80s shimmery gloss.)

Your concept of femininity does not define mine. I’m a total girly girl. The adjective masculine doesn’t fit me. I’ve tried it on a hundred times. A thousand. Sure, I’m aggressive, competitive, energetic, active, creative, take-charge—but those aren’t male traits. They’re personality traits.

And my looks? Let me tell you something. I only get misgendered by people who look at the walk and not the hips, who look at the body language and not the body. The ones who mistake social norms for

I’m just not your kind of girly girl. Get on with yourself.