He was cute, fidgety with his glasses. App profile: TRANS in bold.
Third drink in, he leans in softly:
“So… when did you know you were trans?”
I blink. “You… read my profile?”
Face instantly tomato-red. “I thought it was like… a trans ally bio? I’m an idiot.”
I cackle. “You thought I was cis and just extra supportive?”
He face-plants into his hands: “Never drinking IPA again.”
Embarrassment flips to real talk till last call.
Deep questions. Honest answers.
Leaving he grins: “I’m really glad I’m a dumbass who can’t read.”
Second date Friday. His embarrassing board game. My garlic fries. Zero patience for misgendering.
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