Free Self-Made Man by Norah Vincent

most, because he was going to need it.
    â€œI think I’m about to blow your mind,” I said.
    â€œI doubt it,” he said. “Just about the only thing you could say that would blow my mind is if you told me that your girfriend was really a man and you were really a woman.”
    â€œWell,” I said, stunned by his exactitude, “you’re half right.”
    â€œOkay,” he said slowly, peering at me skeptically. “In that case, I’ll have a blackberry brandy, with a beer back.”
    â€œActually,” I said, “you might want two. I’m buying.”
    He downed the first and ordered another. I wasn’t sure if he was spooked or just taking advantage of the freebies. Knowing him, probably the latter, not that I was the big spender or anything. At that bar you could get good and ripped for ten dollars.
    When he’d wiped the vestiges of the second shot off his lips, I started in.
    â€œJim,” I said, “you were right. I’m not a guy. I’m a woman.”
    â€œShut up, asshole,” he said. “C’mon, really. What did you want to tell me?”
    â€œNo. That’s really it. I’m a woman. Look,” I said, “I’ll show you my driver’s license if you don’t believe me.”
    I pulled it out of my wallet and put it into his hand. He looked at it for a second, then said, “That doesn’t even look like you.”
    He shoved it back into my hand. “Besides, you can fake those easy.”
    â€œI swear, Jim, it’s not a fake. That’s me. My name is Norah, not Ned.”
    â€œShut up,” he said again. “Why are you doing this to me? I mean, I gotta hand it to you, if this is a joke, it’s a good one. You got me, but a joke’s a joke.”
    â€œIt’s not a joke, Jim.”
    He shook his head and took a big gulp of his beer.
    â€œOkay, look,” I said. “I’ll show you every card in my wallet, including my social security card. They all have the same name on them.”
    I put all the cards on the bar in a row where he could see them. He looked at them all cursorily, then said, “Are you fuckin’ with me? Because if you are, this is fucked up. I mean, if I’d thought of it first I’d have done it to you, but shit, you gotta tell me.”
    â€œNo,” I said, “I swear to God, I’m not fucking with you. I’m a woman. My name is Norah. Look, I don’t have a protruding Adam’s apple, right?” I put his finger on my throat and ran it up and down.
    â€œI’m wearing a tight sports bra to hold down my tits,” I said, putting his hand on my back so he could feel the straps under my sweatshirt. “Look, if you still don’t believe me, let’s go in the bathroom and I’ll show you.”
    â€œNo thanks,” he blurted, jerking away from me. “I don’t wanna see that shit. Jesus, man. You’re fuckin’ me up. And you were my coolest guy friend, too. Damnit. This is really blowin’ my mind. You better not be fuckin’ with me.”
    It took a while to get him to concede it, even remotely, and every once in a while he’d still say, “You’re not fuckin’ with me, are you?” But we sat there for a good three hours talking about the book and why I was doing it, and slowly I got the sense that it was sinking in.
    â€œI gotta say,” he said finally, “that takes balls…or not, I guess. Wow, you’re a fuckin’ chick. No wonder you listen so good.”
    We went through the whole rigmarole of hindsight, things he’d thought were a little odd at the time, but now made sense to him. We’d have long moments of silence, and then he’d say something like, “So that’s why you always wear a sweatshirt even though it’s so hot in there, right? It’s to cover up your tits.”
    â€œYep,” I’d say. “It sucks, too,