He told me about bumping into her on his way back home from the car. She’d been carrying a bucket of soapy water with which to clean the seagull shit off the car. He said how she’d offered to do his too. A quiet woman, woman/girl really, she often blushes when she speaks. He said she’d asked after me. Anyway, she told him that she’s now to be called by another name. The old name was familiar, it did suit her, sort of. This one fits better. We muse over the reason for the change. Gender-neutrality, perhaps? Whatever the cause, good for her, I say. It takes courage to make such a shift in outward identity, particularly as by doing so you are drawing attention to yourself. Something that I suspect, diffident as she is, she might find difficult. Bravo.
