Sheffield Sisters

This last week, aside from my getting lost in what’s been called the “vibrant, pulsating hub of the North West” (I Manborde, 2009), Manchester, I went trekking the length and breadth of the country (well up and down the M1 at least), to see good friends, Joanne and Lucy.

Sunday last but I headed North to Sheffield and the Meadowhall shopping centre.

I had arranged to spend a morning shopping and chatting with Jo. We planned to meet on Meadowhall’s car park at 10am, which was a bit daft, as the shops didn’t open till 11. I judged my eta very badly and got there at 9.30am. It’s a bit disconcerting sitting in the only car on such a huge carpark in the bright sunlight. It was like a scene from some distopian sci-fi zombie flick, think Dawn of the Dead crossed with The Full Monty (well It was Sheffield). I was eventually joined by 2 other cars, though this didn’t settle my unease as the cars screeched to a halt side by side, facing opposites, and the occupants got out only to exchange packages, before they screeched away again. I suppose they could have been handing over an Avon delivery, but for what I could see under their Burberry caps the two young men were pretty well moisturised already. Anyway, the speed of the transaction left me thinking that the customer was satisfied.

Eventually the car park filled and even more eventually Jo arrived. As before Jo looked annoyingly pretty, and slimmer than any friend needs to be, still it would be unfair of me to ask her to bulk up just for a shopping expedition with me. As we sat over coffee we shared tales from the road. I tried to impart some of my wisdom borne of 4 year post transition, but it soon became apparent that there was nothing I could teach Jo and the nearest thing I would come to Wisdom was when if I changed my toothpaste brand. As shopping trips go, we fared pretty badly, as our constant wittering got in the way of actually buying anything, that was until we were pounced upon by a lady from a stall selling Dead Sea beauty stuff.

Pretty soon we were rubbing some salt scrub into our hands and marvelling at the smell of some soapy stuff. The sales lady was charming, insistent and persistent. At one stage she asked our names. “I’m Jenny and this is Joanne”. “Are you sisters she enquired. This was clearly wrong whichever way you looked at it.

1) Did she not suspect that either of us was Trans and therefore both original born women? Flattering but unlikely, as she had both looked a

t me and heard me speak, and anyway even if this was the case we could still not have looked less like sisters.

2) She sussed that we were trans, and thought we were brothers that had become sisters. Possible but highly improbable

3) She sussed me and thought that Jo was my sister and I had decided to join her in sorority. Not flattering for me I guess, but possible.

4) She was just high on smelling patchouli oil flavoured soap, day after day.

5) She was just an overzealous soft soaping soap seller

Whatever the reason it worked on me and I left clutching a bag of way too expensive soapy/salty stuff that would transform me into a soft skinned temptress. The price to pay for this pleasure was the abandonment of my principles. I realised that I am supposed to be boycotting goods from Israel (see post passim), but doh! where in the world did I think the Dead Sea was. Jo just looked at me with bemused wonder.

It felt all too soon to be heading back to Stoke but time and Sunday lunch wait for no woman. As I drove back down the M1 my ebullience at an enjoyable morning turned to melancholy. The empty house that I was returning to felt just a bit more empty. Its funny the more time I spend with any of my fabulous bunch of friends the more lonely I feel. I guess the highs of good company exaggerate the lows of solitude. I despise regret, its a waste of time, effort and brain ache, but I do sometimes think that although when we transition it is absolutely the right thing to do, the sacrifice of future family is a high tax indeed. Anyway I had pulled myself together by Derby, just in time buy a pair of great shoes. Hey, I may be a moody cow, but I was a moody cow in 3 inch black patent killer heels.