I know this is nothing to laugh about, but I really get a kick out of it. I just hope my luck doesn't ever run out, and some woman (or girl) goes screaming to someone that there's a man in the women's bathroom. Despite the occasional amusement, though, I try to avoid public rest rooms - especially when they are divided by the sexes. The aversion began a few years ago after I retired, when several factors all came into play in a short amount of time.
When I was still working, I didn't pay it too much attention. Though I was dressed just like my co-workers (all male), I dismissed the occasional "mis"identification by girls and women in the bathrooms. It would make me inwardly grin that I scared the crap outta some girl thinking she had walked into the wrong bathroom, or startled a woman thinking a man had just walked into the women's room. But I knew that if anyone ever made a fuss...everything could and would be easily settled.
But by the time I retired, I had pretty much weaned off everything that came out of the women's department - men's attire was no longer just something I wore for work. I began binding daily - even outside of the house. So by then, even though I wasn't wearing a ballcap everyday, the flat chest and men's clothing was enough for many to dismiss me as male. I also began packing regularly - even outside of the house. But that was for my own comfort. I don't wear my shirts tucked in, so no one sees the package. I'm sure that would definitely get me in trouble.
Anyway, today...I had to go to the bathroom. This cold has me blowing my nose every so often, and I don't like blowing my nose sitting at a table in a restaurant. So, reluctantly, I headed to the restroom.
When I walked through the door, there was a woman who was just finishing drying her hands. She looked at me and smiled. But then I could see it in her eyes, and that sudden, almost imperceptible tensing of her body. Nearly simultaneously, her eyes darted up to the symbol on the door before I let it go. Was she trying to telepathically tell me, "you're in the wrong bathroom." Or had she been suddenly beset with a fear that it was she who was in the wrong bathroom?
I stepped into one of the stalls to blow my nose. While in there, I heard a couple of women come in. One went in a stall, the other was obviously just the tag-along. They were chattering about some kind of eye make-up. I came out of the stall and went to reach for some paper towels. The tag-along smiled and spoke, I spoke, and then said, "excuse me," as she was standing in front of the towel dispenser. The smile disappeared, and in that short space of time, the tag-along's demeanor seemed to change.
I tucked the towels under my chin, got a squirt of soap, flicked the faucet on and began to wash my hands. The woman in the stall came out and over to the sink. The tag-along took that opportunity to cross to the other side of the counter and she said something to the other woman. The woman glanced first at the mirror, not at herself, but at me. And then she quickly turned her head to look directly at me, but only for a second.
I never looked at her, however, I could tell I seemed to be the subject of whatever was going on, or rather, whatever had been said.
I left the bathroom rather pleased with myself for having freaked out three women in the space of five minutes. But the funny thing is...they had no clue that I was perhaps more freaked out than they were, for the simple reason that I had to even be in that room to begin with.