So the *bad* news is, for some reason, I’ve been called “sir” ONCE over the past two weeks of social interactions among folks who don’t already know me. I have no idea why, but after a friggin’ *phalloplasty,* WOW does that sting.
Add to the pot the fact I found two co-workers of mine refuse to go into the men’s room when I’m in there, and we have a Not Happy Gerbil Indeed™.
The co-workers’ll get pointed out to HR as soon as the department’s open tomorrow, but in the meantime, some good news! Know what I can do now that I couldn’t just a few days ago? Go on, guess. :3
I can hold a full fast-food drink cup in my donor-side hand with no support or bracing from the other side’s hand at all! Pinky up, like I’m used to, no less.
AND and and. I can fall sleep on my stomach again! I was wondering if that ability would ever come back, given the tenderness of what’d be being squashed underneath.
Give and take, eh? Give. and. take.
Expect a super-phototastic 3-month anniversary (monaversery? …whatever.) post tomorrow!
Chinchilla Meat 