You Can Call Me Cautious

If you're not up to reading a long boring post at least skip down to the line of ~~~~~~~~~~~ near the bottom.

I'd like to start by saying I am not paranoid. I don't see conspiracies lurking everywhere and people are not out to get me (except for the ones that are, and I'm keeping a close eye on them. And a journal. One copy will go to the newspapers if anything happens to me; the other goes to the police). OK, that last part was an attempt at humour.

In advance, I'm going to beg pardon for my generalisations.

Like most of us (crossdressers, not paranoiacs), I keep my girl-self hidden from most people. Like the child who sleeps with the light on, we have a variety of reasons. Like the child, they're pretty much all fear-based. I'm guessing most common is fear of rejection of those around us. Fear of hostility is probably high on the list, as is fear of humiliation or being laughed at. We don't want our children teased because "your daddy is a sissy".

Whatever the reason, most gurls who are out regularly still separate their two identities. Their neighbors probably don't know, their extended family probably don't know, their immediate family may not know.

So the flying bit raised my paranoia level (can I just call it caution level?) from it's usual low Meg 3 to about 9.

When Meg is shopping, she can pay cash ~ anonymous. She hopes the neighbors don't see a woman driving away or home, and she hopes no-one recognises her vanity plate and comes over to see, um, non-Meg.

See, some of you know both Meg and her male self; the vast majority do not. This is the only thing I have in common with Superman. :)

The fact that someone may figure out that "that was no lady that was...." is what keeps the level up to 3. That, and the fact that someone might look right through Meg and not just see a guy in a dress but a particular guy in a dress. When I'm not dressed, my level is a healthy 2.7.

So what kept me up to a 9? I took a cab to the mall in drab. Walking through the mall with a suitcase and laptop bag was odd, but not a problem. Walking through the mall or the airport dressed was no different than shopping.

In the past, that was it. Not this time.

The taxi dispatcher has my phone number. The cabbie knows and can make a connection.
The airline knows everything about me ~ name, address, phone, everything.
Ditto the TSA. Ditto the rental car place. The flight crew could find out who the "lady" in 6c was.

The hotel is the worst ~ I'm still here.

Dinner was cash and anonymous.

I didn't tell anyone who knew Meg is flying where I was going.

There might be some Glenn-Beck-type clod who could pick up the details and (paranoia alert!) be waiting at the airport with signs and a bullhorn denouncing what he considers a pervert.

The odds? About 0.001%.

Or the readers from crossdressers.com or the Classy DC Sisters group or Stana's blog might say "hey, we're local. Let's put on our best and give Meg a fantastic sendoff!"

The odds? About 0.001%.

Although one would be horrid (but not trip-ending) and one would be fantastic (but embarrassing), both are above my paranoia level of a probability of 0.0009%. So here's what I didn't say (note the marker I mentioned earlier):

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I flew from Washington Dulles airport, about 30 miles from DC, to Kansas City. From there, I drove to Topeka where I'm working right across the street from the capitol building. I'm staying in the hotel close to the West Ridge Mall. I won't say what agency not because of my caution but because I'm not supposed to. I'll be flying back (not as Meg) Friday evening.

By the way, I slept like a baby last night ~ I woke up wet and crying every couple of hours. No, I slept through the night for the first time in a few weeks. But every sleepless minute and elevated heartbeat was worth it.

Tomorrow, work permitting, I'll start writing about the trip. I feel like it's anti-climactic though.