The pretty guy wasn't ...
See more » Ambiguously Gendered
The pretty guy caught my eye as he entered the shop.
Nope, that isn't true. 'He' wasn't pretty: skin was a bit off, nothing special at all about the features. I'm not sure how many people might've cast second glance. I'm as big a fan of compelling eyes and harmony of chin and cheek as the next person but there are nuances that interest me more than conventional cutie-piehood.
When the object of interest came to the register I realized I'd been looking at a flat-chested woman in a guy's shirt and torn jeans.
A redneck cliché of the 1960s when, mirable dictu, longhair was popular among young men was "Har, har, you can't tell the boys from the girls." Sometimes walking behind someone on the street I couldn't. That feeling was a treat. My incipient appreciation of gender ambiguity could've told me much about myself if I'd been a quarter as self-aware as my pride often made me think.
Her sex doesn't matter I did enjoy my surprise.