Photo Credit: Schub@

I have an uncle who used to tease me incessantly when I was growing up. He used to say that I was really born a boy, but the doctors accidentally cut off my wee winky instead of the umbilical. “Uuuy, penis!”, they exclaimed. Or so he said.

Obviously, everybody always just laughed off that story because I am so clearly a girl with the requisite girl bits. That, and he always pronounced ’penis’ the way you’d say ’pennies’. The last time I saw him was about 7 years ago. He still cracked the same joke, and it was still hella funny. That was one joke that never got old.

Last week, my husband and I went on our annual physical checkup, and we got our results two days ago. Apart from my high blood sugar (I’m predisposed to diabetes) and a fat liver, everything’s A-okay. There’s one rather alarming thing, however. My paperwork says I am MALE, much to my husband’s panic. Imagine his reaction when I told him my uncle’s old joke.

And so I find myself thinking: what if my uncle was right all these years and I really am male? I am, after all, the spitting image of my dad. And I didn’t have hair until I was three. And there’s one tiny hair that persistently grows on my chin, which I have to tweeze off every couple of months or so, I kid you not. 

Just think: I would’ve been one of the first transsexual success stories in the whole world. Like, E-V-E-R. That, and my (somewhat) homophobic husband would be married to a man. Now, that is just hilarious.

My mother, however, says she’s pretty sure I was born female. Emphasis on ‘pretty sure’. Isn’t that comforting?

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