We all know the story of the watermellon; It's round honey, it's green honey, it's got a poisoned seed

Promised I 'd blog about this one.

So, a few nights ago my buddy Bochylas called and it was time to leave my paints and miniatures and my PC alone for a night and go get wasted and rauckously boyish once again (I really have to find a way to get wasted and not revert to dumb-boyhood) (maybe with a hammer?).

It was a warm night and I thought I 'd bring some watermellon along, because it's just the thing for the summer heat, especially when your tongue starts feeling like a piece of carpet and you can't stop smiling 'cause your lips stick to your gums. So I took a slice, not big, just a fourth of a smallish watermellon, and since I didn't have anything big enough to put it in or something to wrap over it, I just held it in my hands and walked down to the house, it's just a few streets away.

Now, for the next bit it's better if I give you some background information.

See, I think I mentioned it on the blog too, I 've been going through a phase the last year... I was being less and less preoccupied with how female I look and feel (because I was looking and feeling just fine). Indeed, I was starting to let myself slip into boy mode more and more often, 'cause I discovered I just loved the way girls (and boys, yep) checked me out when I was there. I mean, (the other time I was a guy) when I was a guy before, nobody ever checked me out like that- people mostly stared straight ahead, for some reason, avoiding to make eye contact ... as if I was going to eat them or something... anyway, a few months ago I realised I was looking, again, like a guy and my femme look didn't work. The horror! What horror? I just felt bloody stupid! I spend ages trying to look like a chick and just when I was getting the hang of it, I get distracted by what a pretty boy I am. Yeah, bloody stupid.

To top it off... well, that's not the kind of thing I like to write about in public, but, what the hell, I 've already made a spectacle of myself, so here goes... I had stopped the hormones. Yeah. Just for a few months, since, what, March? Maybe February at the most. I just wanted to see if I 'd get my, um, well, my erections back. Well, I did and there was much rejoicement (I am after all in a very serious relationship with a very seriously heterosexual girl, poor thing). Then, one day I realised my beard had doubled in strength and spread, I had started sprouting hair on my cheeks, all the rest of my body hair was having a wild party and as about my voice... oh boy... oh shit... Oh, yeah, and if they tell you testosterone has nothing to do with oily skin, don't believe them. Every morning my face was a greasy mess and my hair looked like I had slept with my head in my ass.

And then I noticed the wrinkles around my eyes.

At about that point I would have sawed the damned culprit bits off with the bread knife if it wasn't for my legendary (what?) patience (WHO...?) and perseverance (STOP SHITTING PEOPLE? YOU 'RE JUST A FUCKING WUSS THAT'S ALL!!!) Anyway, no permanent harm done, all that was just two months ago, I started the fem juice again and all the unwanted side effects are gone (yes, and the wanted ones are doing fine thank you). But, with this and that, I 'd spent about a year and a half being unfashionably careless about my looks, so that when I started going out a bit more dressed and made up, I was just hit square in the head by all that age-old dumbass insecurity again and I couldn't take two steps out of my door before I started feeling everybody's eyes are on me (yeah, I 'd wish) and everybody was staring and laughing behind my back (right, I can see with my arsehole) and whatever... bottom line, I was freaking out about how I looked again.

Until that night with the watermellon.

It took me a while to realise that while I was walking around holding a slice of watermellon in my arms, it didn't even cross my mind for a single moment, what people might think of me for being trans, or that they 'd stare at me because of how I looked. I was thinking that people might stare at me because I was carrying a slice of watermellon craddled in my arms like my first baby child, in the middle of the fucking night. Which actually made me smile.

And I thought, what a pathetic fool I am to let such a small thing get to me, so small that a tiny little thing like a slice of watermellon (it was a small one, OK?) is enough to dislodge it from my brain, eliminate the thought, obliterate the feeling...

OK, so you know now, if ever you 're feeling nervous about your looks, all you gotta do is remember my story and carry a slice of watermellon around with you.

:spits seeds: