Longhaired redneck

That would be me—not having thought to deploy my built-in sunshade today. Clear, hot, dry day, as it is every time after a hurricane passes through. And me, not wanting to get all sweaty, I wore my hair in a tail. Won’t be making that mistake again.

CBC’s friend, he artist guy, wasn’t setting up at Corn Hill, which left us free for other activities in the morning. It was an easy decision, given our shared interest in aviation. “How about checking out the old warbirds at the annual 1941 Historical Aircraft Group air show?” I suggested.

“I’m in!” cried CBC.

And we spent the rest of the morning through to the early afternoon crawling around C-47s, B-25s, a B-17—all of which are much smaller than than we thought—and Corsairs, P-51s, and a bunch of other fighters—all of which are larger than we thought. Go figure.

CBC wouldn’t let me take her picture with a P-51 named Gorgeous Gal or Gorgeous Girl or something like that. But she did get “ma’amed” a couple of times—in boy clothes no less—which she felt pretty good about.

The picnic was, well, different. Not much moving about. Mostly people in small groups of friends not straying very far from their blankets and lawn chairs.

I found the politician I was supposed to look up about web hosting and we spent the rest of the afternoon alternately sitting in the shade and looking for her friend, the artist guy.

Walking along the sidewalk alongside the river, CBC asked, “Who are we looking for again?”

Stunned, I stopped, mouth temporarily unable to produce sounds. “Uh, [******]” finally made its way past my lips.

“Oh yeah! [******]! I forgot there for a moment. I really want to see him.”

“You’ve gotta find a new hair dye,” I told her. “That blonde is having a side effect.”

“Yeah, I know. I think I’ve lost 20 IQ points.”

“Just wait’ll you start the hormones. You’ll be a bimbo in no time.”

She rolled her eyes at me.

Later on, sitting under a pavilion eating ice cream, which was served in pink ice cream cones, an AAer who flirts with me all time, sauntered over cooing, “Oooo, Brucie. Can I have a lick?”

“Oh honey,” I licked my cone, “you can lick all you want, but you cain’t have no ice cream.”

“Shit! You knew where that was going.”

“Darlin’,” lick, lick, “with that letcherous grin you’re wearin’, CNN knew where that was going.”

It was good ice cream too.

Had a free chicken sandwich. At least is wasn’t a chicken wrap. I had enough of those in Toronto to last me a while. Anyway, a trans friend of CBC’s who owns a hamburger… uh, rather, ground round joint and sets up a cart in front of Muther’s on the weekends was giving away free food.

Hots, Italian sausage, hamburgs ground rounds everything. For free.

Naturally there’s a story.

See, I knew her, back when she was a he growing up in Greece. The family owned the best ground round joint on the lake. Apparently, the family—her kids included—disowned her completely and forced her out of the business when she came out as a trans. This is her way of giving back to the community which took her in.

And you know, she doesn’t look a day older than when I last saw him 20 or 25 years ago.

Maybe there’s something to this hormone stuff. Not the first time I’ve heard of it. And not that I’m considering it. I’m just sayin’…

Naturally, we ran into Pam from the trans group and former Executive Director of the GAGV. While I was off schmoozing with the politician, she told CBC, “I’m glad to see you and Bruce are still friends.”

On hearing the report, I told CBC, “I’m glad too that we’re still friends.”

I met more trans people this afternoon than I have in my life. Several seemed to think there was something going on with me and CBC. She didn’t deny it, so when my old friends seemed to have similar thoughts, I didn’t deny it either. Let ‘em think what they want.

In any event, over eight hours in the sun and I’ve got a real pain in the neck. Stories from Saturday will have to wait.

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