Here’s the deal. It’s not that I don’t like women. I do. Female is one of my all time top two genders. It’s just that I happen not to be one of them. But, with a name like “Makya” (rhymes with papaya), it’s anyone’s guess. And anyone tends to guess female.
So, I’m officially coming out as a man. Having neglected to post a photograph of myself on this blog, some readers have confused me for someone with much more estrogen. Which, in a way, I take as a compliment. The fact that one can read my posts and not instantly determine my gender is how it should be. Because here at Makya (still rhymes with papaya) McBee Vs. I represent all people, regardless of gender, race, or creed (except for left-handed people…gross). But just because my writing is androgynous doesn’t mean I want to be.
This is an important time for me to acknowledge my maleness. Being in my late-mid-thirties, I need to get married and have kids in the next couple of weeks. And what better place to meet the future Mrs. Vs. than right here on my blog.
“That’s right, kids, mommy and daddy met in the comments section of daddy’s blog…first I ‘liked’ him, then he twittered me…then we linked to each other’s websites…and that’s how we got you guys.”
And I have enough going against me – the fact that nobody knows I’m a guy is just compounding the issue. (Sure, I’ve seen studies where women claim that a sense of humor is the first thing they look for in a man…BS, the first thing they look for is that he’s the spitting image of Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louise, if a guy looks like that it doesn’t matter if can’t stumble his way through a knock-knock joke. The first thing they look for is holy crap he’s handsome, the forty-third thing they look for is a sense of humor). Nonetheless, this androgyny could really hurt my chances. I’ve found that knowing your partner’s gender is a key component to most successful relationships.
And, as proof, I now offer photographic evidence of the body part that will confirm my maleness…
(A pronounced Adam’s apple, of course. What were you thinking? That I was gonna Favre up the place?)
Now that I think about it, perhaps my insecurity is rooted in my childhood. I remember the day I was playing in a soccer game and one of the players from the opposing team came up to ask me if I could settle a bet – was I a boy or a girl? Yes, that actually happened. Granted, I was probably ten or eleven years old and had long hair (damn hippie parents), but it still wasn’t a great boost to my boy/manhood.
And, over the years, I’ve received a lot of mail addressed to “Ms. Makya McBee,” which is the first sign that the sender doesn’t know me very well. And it just continues to reinforce the fact that society finds it difficult to pinpoint my gender. Luckily, I no longer have this problem when I meet people in person (the facial hair helps), but there are lingering, deep-rooted psychological issues here and within the relative anonymity of cyberspace I’d at least like to firmly secure my number of X chromosomes (two….I think…how many X chromosomes do guys have again…or is it an X and a Y…YY…I guess I did deserve that C in Biology)
So, how am I going to do it? How will I dispel the myths and prove to the public that their dealing with testosterone city? What can I say? The fact that I’m not a man of means, a man of the world, or (apparently) a man of few words…doesn’t mean I’m not 100% (or, as of my last physical, 89%) man.