Mister Mom, Part 2

I was happily ensconced at Eclair's house all weekend, so I didn't get much new dirt on the tale of Yvonne's father who wants to become a woman.
I caught up when I got home last night and called Yvonne.
Funny thing, she hasn't spoken to either parent much since the bomb was dropped last week.
Typical of them. They don't have that urge to talk new things to death, I suppose because they are all so accustomed to controlling everything they say and how they react to each other.
Yvonne instead spent the weekend reviewing her memories to see if she could spot clues from the past.
-In 1988, she found a Lee's Press-On Nail behind a dresser in her parent's guest room.
She asked her father about it last week, and he said he didn't start using fake nails until 1990, so the mystery remains unsolved.
-Though her father always professed an intense dislike for shopping at the mall, she did recall how, once he was forced to go, he always took great interest in helping the mother select her clothes.
-For the last few years, he's been adding his own little transsexual items to those humorous e-mail forwards he sends Yvonne, like, "You know you're a Democrat when..."
She can tell he added them because the tone changed. For instance:
You know you're a Democrat when:
1. Your dream car is a solar powered Volvo station wagon.
2. You understand that gender identity dysphoria can create a stigma that can devastate the life of a boy and cause him to make decisions in his adult life that paralyze him with feelings of self loathing and hopelessness, resulting in only two choices, suicide or sexual reassignment surgery
3. You think Oprah should be President...

Now Yvonne and I are worried we might start running into her father Pam at some of the gayish places we hang out. I mean, we live in the same 3-mile radius and even Jim's, the local Denny's-type restaurant, is a potential crossroads.
In the evening, we frequent a certain gay-friendly coffee house and wine bar.
I recall I was there a few months ago amidst a sea of middle aged men dressed as women.
I bet Pam was there and spotted me, but perhaps she hid behind her frilly lace Pollyanna sunbonnet to avoid my gaze.
Nah, I usually just ignore trannies in public, because if I start to stare I end up wanting to ask where they buy all that gigantic retro Doris Day casual wear and those slingback mules in size 13.

I must admit, there is some subtle discrimination toward trannies in the gay and lesbian community.
We average, run of the mill queers don't like when mainstream news covers a gay march or rally and interviews a big old Dolly Parton wig-clad trannie from the crowd.
We like our public spokesqueers to look more ordinary, so the straight world can see the gay issue is all so much ado about nothing.
Hard for straight folks to accept it when the TV screen is filled with someone who looks like Minnie Pearl and sounds like Johnny Cash.
Some M-F transsexuals continue to be attracted to women, making them transsexual lesbians. We lesbians with original parts often shake our heads and wonder why they switched.
Yvonne's father assured her, no matter what, he'd continue to be heterosexual.
I asked if that meant, as a woman would he start to like men, or as a hetero male switching to being a woman, would he still like women?
Poor Yvonne. She looked into the air and said, "Ya know, I don't know. I didn't think to ask that."
I think we are both concerned that her daddy will start wanting to hang out with us now.
Will we one night be at a drag show and have Pam come up to us, wanting to share a few tequila body shots?
Will he start coming over without first calling, all excited about showing Yvonne his new, zebra print capris?
Oy vey.
Life used to be much simpler here in River City.