Tonight someone saw me go into a women’s bathroom, thought I was a guy, and called security on me.
I was having a really lovely evening before that. I was out with the Sig Fig and her roommate to celebrate their imminent master’s degrees, enjoying expensive gourmet food and tulips in the common. And then my mood was totally ruined.
Luckily, the Sig Fig really told the guy off and made him leave before I even came out of the bathroom. (She tried to pretend nothing had happened, which was nice of her, but I’d heard a bit of the conversation through the door and pried the truth out of her.) Then again, I probably wouldn’t even have gone in the first place had I not been with two other people who had to pee–shopping centers are my absolute least favorite places to pee, with airports and movie theaters not too far behind. Because I was processing in with two other well-dressed dykes, though, I thought I’d be safe.
I hate that I let this ruin my evening, but I hate that it happened even more. And I know that unless I suddenly develop a fondness for for skirts and wear my hair out, it’s going to keep happening.
This is how bladder infections happen, people.