I wish it was halloween every day. I like candy just as much as the next guy.. but that's not why I want it. What other time throughout the entire year do I get to wear a top hat, and use a cane to cover the fact that I may have just a wee bit of fatitude attached to my physical body, and some of it still mildly yet inappropriately resembles female breasts? When I ask you? When?

This is something a lot of trans men come into contact with.. Boobs, but I don't necessarily mean the ones attached to their chests. I mean the ones that they come in contact with on a daily basis.

There are the boobs that are trying to be funny when they incorrectly address a trans man as "ma'am or her or she" and nervously try to pull out faster than a kid who suddenly decides fatherhood may really NOT be his calling...

and then there are the defiant boobs who systematically tell you and the people around you "Well I think it's just sick and wrong that you think you want to be a boy when you ain't got no boy parts". Those people often lack the parts that other civilized humans need to survive sans chaos and trauma drama.. and we don't make fun of them... much.

There are the boobs who didn't start out as boobs, they were just super nice people who thankfully didn't realize at first that you are a trans man because you pass so well, but as soon as they found out that your silly little birth genitals don't or didn't fit your gender, they 'slip' constantly with "She" or "Her" or the 'sister-friend' comment, when once they were high fiving you and calling you 'Bro'. How many times will you hear "I just forget," or "Sorry I can't wrap my head around it." How does "I never knew before and I was cool with you once" turn into "I never knew before and I was cool with you until you made me uncomfortable because now I have to deal with this in my own little bigoted head." this is the oob I will NEVER understand.

Everytime this happens, it never fails that the boob I am dealing with chooses to focus on my chest. Trying to get a glimpse to disprove my claim of manhood, maybe catch a little oversized under-muscled bump or two?

I make sure to correct every wrong assumption or accusation with a curt "Her" or "Sir" or "Mister" and when they realize they have been called out on their ignorance their reasoning sounds exactly like "Oh, I'm sorry, I have just had one of those days" and "My head is all over the place, I have just been doing that all day to people,..." Doing what all day to people exactly? Calling Sweet Mrs. Jenkins from down the road "Mister?" or Old cantankerous Mr. Dowdy at the Library "Miss?" Hardly.

Next time you catch the culprits prying eyes focusing on your most manly of chesty chests, feel free to let them know that 'Salem Already inspected them for you. They are Man boobs, now, move along".

My job here is done. You're welcome. Be free, and I love you.