We were visiting a brewery which had just opened. I was there to support a friend. She was there to support a neighborhood business. We were united in purpose even if the reasons were not quite the same. On that day, I turned 41. I took a break from preparing for the barbecue we'd be having to sample some of the new brews which had just showed up in Mount Lebanon, and wished I'd biked there. I knew I'd see people I knew, and honestly it wasn't a surprise that I ran into any of the 25ish people I knew there before I collected some beer and brewed ginger ale to share and fled in the direction of home. For a child he was very well behaved for an afternoon at a crowded brewery. Of course, he'd done the dance before. I knew he had.
He was not the first to be thrown by the voice. I have 2 problems. One is the voice. The other is the (lack of) hair. I wished my upbringing had been a little different. I also wished I'd asked the right questions sooner, My own glands had poisoned my hair away and given me a deep, throaty voice that I never knew what to do with, never adapted to or wanted to. Neither has an obvious simple solution. They're just my burdens to bear.
Later that day, a second friend offered me a ponytail of her hair. A wig takes 3. I'm almost there. And I found a plausible voice training app. I am so close I can taste it (and it tastes like the chalky, sweet flavor of my testosterone suppressant).
Step 37: Jethro Tull may have been right. Nothing is easy. But then, nothing worth having ever was.