Coat Hanger

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    I’m so much in the closet that I think I risk becoming a coat hanger. Perhaps this is why I am feeling so hung-up?

    To my embarrassment I have never held a physical conversation with a transgendered person, never offered them support, I have never had the opportunity to explain to them that I may understand, and have never been able to offer a supportive hug.

    Recently, whilst visiting Leicester I witnessed a tgirl receiving verbal abuse from a pair of lads. I refrain from calling them oafs or even worse. They weren’t being too sinister, just boorish. She gave as good as she got, retained her composure and lived her life. I’m British, conservative and restrained, so I witnessed, reflected, formed an opinion and then ultimately did ‘sod all.

    So I suppose that this is a bit of a fable. If I’d have crossed the road and offered a brief word of support, I might perhaps have gained a significant amount in the process. It’s possible that I might have broken down first, or perhaps already threatened the tgirl might have lashed out at me – assuming I was a further menace, and given me a good seeing to. But seemingly doing nothing is my forte, so that I did.

    If she was you I offer my apologies for being a coat-hanger and not a gallant supporter. Should you see me this week, then please cross the street and give me a kick up the backside (the hug can follow), you’ll spot me, I’ll be wearing a wardrobe.