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I might not be able to wear a binder for any length of time anymore, but you bet your ass I’m putting it on before I get my haircut so I can get those sweet sweet men’s prices.

Living outside a small town means that whenever I get my haircut, I have to roleplay to the stylist. The first time I went in, she thought I was a 15 year old boy, and even though I go there only every eight months or so, she somehow remembers me and thinks I am now entering my senior year of high school. I have to tell her my college aspirations and favorite classes and if I’m going to prom with a nice girl.

It’s The Worst™ and she’s always telling me how my hair is just too pretty for a boy, and telling everyone else in the room to admire my beautiful hair and cluck in envy that a boy should be blessed with such curls.

I don’t know how to get out of this incredibly awkward situation.

Hey Ship?

This is fucking hilarious.

no it’s bad Rob

she thinks I’m a hypermature Boy Genius Child and I don’t know how to tell her I’m a genderqueer college grad

Tell her you want to date a nice boy?

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