There is a Goodwill store behind where I work. I went shopping the other day, looking for more long-sleeved shirts to wear around the house. I have no problem wearing used clothes, and most of my shirts are from different thrift stores. They are also mostly men’s shirts, as I prefer the roomier cut. While browsing through the selection, I overheard two women talking.

“I think it’s a crossdresser.”

“No, they wear dresses. Those are shirts.”

” But that’s a girl and she looking at men’s clothes.”

“Maybe they for her husband.”

“She got a man’s shirt on.”

“Ooh, she do! Maybe she is one of them crossdressers.”

“That is so wrong. She need to find Jesus.”

I really wanted to fuss at these women and tell them that I will wear whatever I damn well please, but I didn’t want to cause a fuss. Still, it bothered me. Even if I was a crossdresser, and I guess in a way I am, what business is it of theirs? This is what makes me comfortable. If Jesus or Buddha or the Flying Spaghetti Monster has a problem with that, they can find me and tell me themselves.