Gender Sells

by johannespunkt

He comes into the room all dressed in almost-blue monochrome and smiles at me while he strips out of the cumbersome suit and tie and and throws it all aside and becomes many-coloured again, true, and the smile turns into a worried frown: “Where is your dress?” Picks up a few red clothes, scrutinizes them.

I look down on my body of oily swirly colour. “Can’t I just go like this?”

Having squeezed into the red dress and stretched white latex gloves over her hands, she touches my chin: “Not when you’re part of the machine,” she says: “Gender sells.”

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