WASP News

I’m still struggling to come to terms with what I have managed to undertake. Initially I wrote achieved, but deleted that, because that makes what I did,  sound like an accomplishment worthy of recognition. People have been going out for dinner and returning home successfully for centuries, and usually without regarding it as anything terribly clever. That is of course, unless they ran off without paying, in which case they probably did breathe a sigh of relief once they arrived home without a summons in their back pocket, or any of those awkward to explain red marks you only ever get from handcuffs applied by over zealous lovers or occasionally policemen.

So on Wednesday the 8th of July, in the company of Craig, Nicolette, and Jane, I went out for dinner and returned home safely.

Casellas in Bunbury is a spacious, smartly decorated venue, on the waterfront. Tapas and fine dining is promised, although to be honest I paid little attention to the menu. I was for the most part  preoccupied with blending into the background, believing that silence and stillness provided my greatest chances of success. Success in this case  being measured by not immediately being recognised as a large overweight hairy man.My subterfuge was twofold. Firstly attempting to present to the world as a sensitive, considerate and wholly female diner, and secondly whilst simultaneously undertaking subterfuge #1, appear completely at ease with myself, my surroundings and the fact that my incredible wife was struggling not to call me Tim all evening. It has to be said that in all the endeavours of the evening, I believe Jane fared the best.

At this point I should call out that Craig and Nicolette provided much-needed support, even if they don’t know it, without them I would never have made it past the front door. Jane was doing her best, but I was feeling flat and less than enthusiastic about going out. The late intervention of Craig provided the push I needed to get the job done. So dressed in what I hoped was a low key,  but feminine style (slender jeans, knee high boots with a medium heel, red cami top, and lacy blouse) I clambered into the Toyota 86 as elegantly as its low stance allows, and we set off for Bunbury. Driving the 86 requires a significant amount of focus, so I reasoned it would be a useful tool, providing a welcome distraction from the worries about “Passing”

For the uninitiated, “Passing” is what Trans men and women hope to achieve when they venture out. I hope to “Pass” as a Woman. Every square centimetre of my physical manifestation is male.  However there is a marked disparity between how I look, and how I feel.  My emotional self yearns to pass as the woman I feel I am. But I live with a cold, logical internal monologue that assures me this will never happen. Perhaps a realistic hope is to settle for somewhere in the middle.

Uneventful would best describe the forty or so minutes it took to drive to Bunbury, with the only real noteworthy event,being that I discovered that its not possible to  use the Heel and Toe technique on the clutch and brake pedal in Heels.

A parking place remarkably close to Casellas felt like fortune had smiled on me. I was incredibly grateful that I would not have to cover a vast distance on foot. I’m pretty comfortable in the heels, but the prospect of encountering other people filled me with dread and the ever present logical voice was screaming at me to get back in the car because I simply  cannot pass.

At a little after 7pm I took my first steps, advancing from the car, and towards the main doors of the restaurant that were probably twenty five meters away. Just beyond the doors, a  young couple were sharing a cigarette and a cuddle. My very first thought was to retreat. I was about to get within two meters of the couple, who in the brightly lit forecourt would surely spot me, and then point, laugh, jeer, or worse. The presence of Jane and Craig thankfully added a degree of momentum that swiftly carried us over the threshold and into the lobby. I was itching to turn and see if my presence had caused a reaction from the canoodling smokers, but decided I probably didn’t need to know.

Nicolette was patiently waiting in the lobby and greeted us warmly. Again another distraction for which I was very grateful. In almost no time at all, we were all following a brisk and efficient waiter through the restaurant, past many other customers, who were all hopefully far too keen on their food and drinks to notice me in any great detail.

The experience so far had a surreal quality. I was in the moment, attempting to be aware and focused,  but at the same time I felt I was just slightly separated from the reality of what was happening.The proximity of the customers at the table behind, whom I could hear chatting very clearly, added a significant amount of tension. Did they see me when I passed their table ? Did they “Read” me ? Were they listening to the voices coming from our table to confirm their suspicions ? I decided to remain quiet and whispered to Jane what I would like to order, and took another large drink from the glass of Chianti and then settled back into my chair in an attempt to expedite the relaxing effects I hoped would follow.

The arrival of our Waitress back at the table to take our order was a moment I had anticipated, and having given Jane my preference I felt comfortable enough just to avoid eye contact, and listen as she worked her way around the table taking orders. Jane placed her order and then stopped, my heart joined in a second or so after.  Four pairs of eyes then turned to me and waited…..Silence was no longer an option, dashing to the toilets was a briefly considered exit strategy, but quickly discounted as I realised I wouldn’t be comfortable in either the Ladies or the Gents and besides which I didn’t know where they were anyway. “You need to order.” Jane helpfully prompted, the intensity of the stares went up a couple of notches and I quietly, and possibly even apologetically ordered the Wagyu burger whilst hoping that a highly localised cataclysmic event would  either consume me or alternatively provide enough of a distraction so that I was no longer the most awful thing in the restaurant.
With the ordering trauma out of the way, I really did start to relax a little. The conversation ebbed and flowed around the table and we had a few laughs. The food  arrived, and  we all quietly tucked in.

It was at this point some movement outside caught my eye, turning to have a better look, I spotted three young lads walking past. They passed by the window close enough for me to get nervous. Three blokey blokes out on the town were just the kind of people I figured I wanted to avoid. I breathed a sigh of relief that I did not have to deal with them as they continued past the window, jostling each other as they went. About 90 seconds later the three of them marched past our table in a very orderly fashion, line astern, following the waiter, who sat them directly opposite us. I contemplated building a wall out of the menus, until I realised they had all been taken away when the food was delivered.

I spent the remainder of the meal looking anywhere but straight ahead, which is harder than it sounds given that its the way we are put together. It was a significant moment.  Having placed myself in this environment, dressed in this way, I was suddenly aware that I am not equipped to deal with the attention that will doubtless come my way.
With our appetites satisfied and the bottle of Chianti emptied, I requested the bill. There was a general feeling that the  evening had been quite lovely, and completely uneventful. For the most part it was, there was of course the unseen chaos and numerous unpleasant scenarios that  unfolded in my imagination, from which my fellow diners had been spared.

Payment complete and table cleared, it was time to head out. In a kind of peculiar reverse vanity, I was convinced that once I stood up, I would become the object of silent ridicule from the remaining patrons, and the quietly efficient staff. Crossing the restaurant, I became acutely aware of the sound of my heels on the tiled floor. Quietly wishing for my motorcycle gear, I self consciously meandered towards the exit. Craig, ever the Gentleman stood patiently at the door,  waiting for me with Jane, who suddenly seemed to be able to  move at double speed and was urging me onwards.
It felt great to be outside again, I felt comforted by the inky darkness, revelling in a new found confidence that came from the night sky. Centuries old light across billions of miles delivering a remarkable sense of perspective as well as a really flattering light.    It was also good to be heading for the the relative safety of the car. Finding sanctuary in the cramped confines of the Toyota Sports Car three up, felt like progress. Just two weeks ago, I was as terrified in the car as I was in the restaurant.  Onwards and Upwards…..