My sink was blocked, and the pipes were leaking, so I called the letting agent who called the plumber who interrogated me about my sex life. So it goes. He started by asking if he could ask me a question. Yes, but I may not answer. He took an age, not seeming to find the words- I wanted to say, “spit it out, man” but left him to it. Then he told me he had seen my wigs- did I have cancer?
This is an entertaining post written in Clare's distinct style. There's somewhat of a surprise at the end of the post. I'm not going to say what it is, so you're just going to have to read Talking to a lesbian.
Two Steps Backwards - One of the big gaps in healthcare for us are trans people who have their insurance coverage through their employer whose insurance plans fall under ERISA (...
4 minutes ago