Back in the mists of time when I started work but did not yet have a car, I cycled to work. Rain or shine, that was me. The only weather that really bugged me was wind. Oddly, I became quite perceptive of the breeze given its effect on my ride to and from home.
So it seems that’s the case now I go out. It’s not much of an issue when going to Chams as we’re inside. Instead, a good breeze merely keeps the place slightly cooler. However, if you’re talking in the real world, I find it affects what I wear (no floaty skirts) or where I go (wig in disarray).
Like anyone sporting a dress, there is the risk of a Monroe moment. By that, I don’t mean possibly dating a famous politician or drying your undies using the subway vent. No, it’s that risk that a quick gust of wind suddenly raises one’s hemline to heights no self-respecting lady (part-time or otherwise) would enjoy.
Many years ago I’d gone to a trans-friendly pub in Derby. This was back in the day when Wee Man would be tucked up in bed, so no worries about coming home en femme. Out I stepped into the night and whoosh, in blew the wind and my wrap dress did it’s best parachute impression by raising itself rapidly skyward. Luckily for my modesty and the sanity of everyone, no one was about. Not that it’s a life lesson I’ve forgotten.
Now, when the wind blows, I’m a little wiser to its tricks and avoid passing directly by narrow alleys or – if it’s really going for it – staying inside. One has standard to keep…. and I don’t want to be chasing my wig down the street either. In these shoes? C’mon! 🙂