He was feeling pretty shitty that day. At least until he looked up.
There you were, your radiance eclipsing the gloom of the rainy day. The streets no longer looked so filthy and infested - it was as if some fairy godmother had waved her wand and all the rats transformed into royal coachmen. Your white T-shirt was completely soaked by the rain and clung to the small of your back. Your gleaming blonde ponytail swished behind you in ambiguous gestures (he tried to decipher some sort of hidden language in those movements) as you pedaled on your bike through the rain.
He managed to catch up to you at the crosswalk of the intersection. He was feeling pretty good. Until you looked up.
And he saw that you were a man.
Must have been the ponytail.
................................................
Obviously I'm not male, so I'm not writing this from any prior experience. Just curious about how often this happens.
(Inspired by an article I-forget-what-it's-called from the New Yorker)
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