Monday, 10 August 2009

What's happening to Lucy?


The above naturally caught my eye when I was at Lyme Regis recently. It's about an offshore limestone ledge, not me. Makes an arresting shot though, if your name is Lucy.

So what IS happening to Lucy, the actual person? What indeed. I find it very hard to discern big changes to my appearance, outlook, habits and attitudes, but changes there certainly have been if you take, say, a six-month timescale. I was intrigued by what happened at the dentist this morning. My dentist has seen me very regularly for the past ten years. She is an attractive and highly competent lady. We have always found time for a least a little chat. The point is, she knows what I look like and can remember me well. She didn't recognise me this morning, though. She opened her surgery door, looked at me, looked at a man sitting nearby, and then looked doubtfully at me again. I immediately gave her a grin and a 'Hello, Nina' and we took it from there.

I have to say she continued with the utmost professionalism, as did her assistant. Not one question on my appearance. All the attention on my potted resume of family events and how that had affected my recent life. Then the check-up. (The teeth passed pretty well: only one old, cracked filling to be renewed) I did appreciate all this matter-of-factness. Even from the receptionist. I get it at the doctor's surgery too. And come to that, from nearly everywhere I go, my garage included. And you know what the motor trade is supposed to be like.

You know, I do worry a bit about transphobia. I can't help thinking that so far I've just been remarkably lucky to escape being mocked, bad-mouthed, sneered at, or threatened. And that this can't possibly last. And that I'm bound to have an awful experience sometime. And yet, the nightmare has not happened. Is this something that could only be so in England? More especially, in Sussex? Or does it apply the world over? I'd really like to think that I won't be dragged off the Saga tour bus in Morocco this November, and hacked to death.

1 comment:

  1. We often fear the worst, delighted for you it hasn't been realised.

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Lucy Melford