As a teacher, I often feel that my cross-dressing and my thoughts on sexuality are dangerous simply by existing. My vocation, my job, my calling, does not really allow for too many deviations from the norm and lies precariously between allowing individualism to exist and the raw edge of conformity. That I wear a suit to work is part of that. My antipathy toward suits as a mode of dress and my understanding of them as the uniform of the armies of conformity and oppression of thought is tempered by the soft seduction that the power of wearing a suit imparts. I wear it both as a pastiche and as a form of armour that protects me from others and prevents others from seeing who I am. I can don it around the campus and be the strict disciplinarian but, remove it, and I am the approachable classroom teacher who can be trusted. That soft seduction of the dark side, to use the modes and symbolism that the suit offers in society to my advantage is as much a part of Default Man as anything else. I have not forgotten that.
|I wouldn't mind donning armour like|
this, nor the hair and the skirt.
In family news the pox and confusion meant that I failed to organise Mothering Sunday for the children. Tilly thus went the day without cards or trips, something she found deeply upsetting looking at the activities of others on Facebook. Having been there myself I can relate and empathise. It's horrible. And it was my doing that she felt so badly about it. She has not blamed me, which makes it worse, but I know how that feels and I feel remorse. I can feel us slipping back apart.