In which the universe thinks I’m a dude.

[dropcap]L[/dropcap]ast autumn, as I was riding through Whitman campus in the dark, an elderly gentleman spied me and hollered, “Young man! Put a light on that bicycle!”*

When I returned to the bar and told the story, it got a pretty big laugh.

Fast forward a few months. I’m sitting at the bar with two guys having a chat. One gets up to leave, says, “Goodnight, gentlemen,” bows, puts on his coat, and is at least six paces away before he turns around and says, “Oh, shit, you’re not a guy.”

In the past three weeks, I’ve discovered that Google, Hulu, and last.fm all think I’m a guy as well. Not to mention that I haven’t worn a skirt since September.

Make of all that what you will.

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* I have, since then, put four lights on my bicycle.