| Commentary and Philosophy Fiction posted May 12, 2021 |
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A hard-learned lesson in pronoun-ciation
Blindsided by Gender Bender
by Elizabeth Emerald
Last fall, my friend Scott stopped by the city yard (read: dump) and got to chatting with a woman, who introduced herself as Chris.
Scott extended his hand and said: "Nice to meet you, sir."
It was an understandable, albeit unfortunate, mistake. Chris, a transgender woman, stood six-foot two, and was wearing baggy jeans and a bulky sweater (appropriate attire for the weather and the "venue"). Chris's hair was pulled back in a ponytail; it wasn't until she leaned forward to shake Scott's hand that the ponytail swung into view.
It reached her waist. Moreover, her hair was gathered by a fuzzy fuchsia "scrunchie."
Scott was mortified; he apologized profusely. Chris nodded her acceptance; a brief conversation ensued, during which Scott learned that Chris lived around the corner from Scott's shop.
As it happened, one of Scott's customers, Mrs. Fox, lived next door to Chris; he'd been planning to drop off a vacuum cleaner that he'd repaired.
Later that afternoon, Scott delivered the machine to Mrs. Fox. He mentioned he'd just met her neighbor Chris.
By way of atoning for his earlier faux pas, Scott took care to refer to Chris by the proper pronouns; he told Mrs. Fox that he'd met her at the city yard, and that she seemed to be a nice lady.
Scott, smiling in relief, proud of himself for not messing up, waited expectantly for Mrs. Fox to respond.
He didn't have to wait long; Mrs. Scott glaring in the direction of Chris's house, said: I don't care what he thinks he is; he's a guy: case closed.
And with that neighborly remark, Mrs. Fox whirled around and stomped into the house.
Last fall, my friend Scott stopped by the city yard (read: dump) and got to chatting with a woman, who introduced herself as Chris.
Scott extended his hand and said: "Nice to meet you, sir."
It was an understandable, albeit unfortunate, mistake. Chris, a transgender woman, stood six-foot two, and was wearing baggy jeans and a bulky sweater (appropriate attire for the weather and the "venue"). Chris's hair was pulled back in a ponytail; it wasn't until she leaned forward to shake Scott's hand that the ponytail swung into view.
It reached her waist. Moreover, her hair was gathered by a fuzzy fuchsia "scrunchie."
Scott was mortified; he apologized profusely. Chris nodded her acceptance; a brief conversation ensued, during which Scott learned that Chris lived around the corner from Scott's shop.
As it happened, one of Scott's customers, Mrs. Fox, lived next door to Chris; he'd been planning to drop off a vacuum cleaner that he'd repaired.
Later that afternoon, Scott delivered the machine to Mrs. Fox. He mentioned he'd just met her neighbor Chris.
By way of atoning for his earlier faux pas, Scott took care to refer to Chris by the proper pronouns; he told Mrs. Fox that he'd met her at the city yard, and that she seemed to be a nice lady.
Scott, smiling in relief, proud of himself for not messing up, waited expectantly for Mrs. Fox to respond.
He didn't have to wait long; Mrs. Scott glaring in the direction of Chris's house, said: I don't care what he thinks he is; he's a guy: case closed.
And with that neighborly remark, Mrs. Fox whirled around and stomped into the house.
Scott extended his hand and said: "Nice to meet you, sir."
It was an understandable, albeit unfortunate, mistake. Chris, a transgender woman, stood six-foot two, and was wearing baggy jeans and a bulky sweater (appropriate attire for the weather and the "venue"). Chris's hair was pulled back in a ponytail; it wasn't until she leaned forward to shake Scott's hand that the ponytail swung into view.
It reached her waist. Moreover, her hair was gathered by a fuzzy fuchsia "scrunchie."
Scott was mortified; he apologized profusely. Chris nodded her acceptance; a brief conversation ensued, during which Scott learned that Chris lived around the corner from Scott's shop.
As it happened, one of Scott's customers, Mrs. Fox, lived next door to Chris; he'd been planning to drop off a vacuum cleaner that he'd repaired.
Later that afternoon, Scott delivered the machine to Mrs. Fox. He mentioned he'd just met her neighbor Chris.
By way of atoning for his earlier faux pas, Scott took care to refer to Chris by the proper pronouns; he told Mrs. Fox that he'd met her at the city yard, and that she seemed to be a nice lady.
Scott, smiling in relief, proud of himself for not messing up, waited expectantly for Mrs. Fox to respond.
He didn't have to wait long; Mrs. Scott glaring in the direction of Chris's house, said: I don't care what he thinks he is; he's a guy: case closed.
And with that neighborly remark, Mrs. Fox whirled around and stomped into the house.
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