Not A Complete Transition

(I’m walking my friend home after a night out.)

Friend: “Can we stop and talk, man-to-man?”

Me: “Sure. We’re both women, but sure.”

Friend: “That’s what I wanted to talk about.” *deep breath* “I’ve been feeling like this for a long time, and I’m pretty sure I’m trans. I’m so sorry.”

Me: “What do you have to be sorry about, other than that awful segue? Man-to-man… Well, man-to-woman, now.”

Friend: “What?”

Me: “Well, if you’re a man, it’s man-to-woman.”

Friend: “But, you’re supposed to come out to me now!”

Me: “Huh? You think I’m trans?”

Friend: “Just look at you. You’re dressed as a man!”

(I look down at myself.)

Me: “I don’t think a Frank N. Furter outfit screams, ‘I’m a trans man.’”

(He threw a fit then and there, and ended up getting the police called on us for disturbing the houses around us. I’ve tried to be there for him, and offered him lifts and a place to stay if anything happens, but he refuses to acknowledge me until I come out, too. I don’t know why he thinks I’m trans, as the only thing remotely cross-gender thing I do is dress up like Frank N. Furter a lot, and he’s the one who introduced me to Rocky Horror in the first place. For the time being, though, I’ve had to put our friendship on hold.)