I Am Not My Brother

On occasion, while growing up,  I was mistaken on the phone as “one of the boys”.  My voice is not what you would call ‘high’.   Or girly.

On occasion now I have men, women and children refer to me as sir, him, or he.   The most recent was last week when a child held the door open for me at work.  I thanked him as I walked away and the father, standing at the elevator told the child to “come on”.  The child, as I walked away to the stairs said “I was holding the door for him”.

I’ve had some folks with vision problems ask me flat out to verify if I am a man or woman.  Most notably the woman standing at the top of the steps in her home as I knocked on her door for the purpose of an investigation for work.  As I walk in she looks down the steps at me, from her naked stance at the top of the step (she did have an open robe on), and says “are you a woman”?  Yes.  Yes I am.   She tells me it’s okay then, she doesn’t need to be discreet.  Uhm, yes, you very much do.  Please.

I usually get a bit of a chuckle out of these incidents.  And often times I roll my eyes with a sigh and some mirth.

Seldom does it bother me.

I’m kind of boxy built.  And I keep my hair very short, for convenience sake.   And because I like to spike it.  And because I’m too lazy don’t want to waste life moments fixing it.  I think we’ve covered this before.


Today it is hot (thank goodness for short hair-ironically) and we are working on our house to home projects.  Today my job was to stand in the sweltering sun and continue sanding the pickets.  It was blazing.  I got a hat out of the garage to protect my eyes and face from the scorch.

At one point I walked in the house, turning the hat backwards while I was in there so I could see inside the house better but not shake saw dust every where.  And I notice Husband, as I walk in, do an involuntary lurch.

Do I need to girl it up some when I walk in the house and Husband thinks I’m my brother?