Strike 3, and I'm out.

Remember the Co-op employee getting confused over my gender?
That was Strike 1.

Strike 2.
The following Thursday I went for my usual placement at the Crawley Road Medical Centre, and on the way back I stopped at Stratford Centre's New Look to get myself a couple of wifebeaters. I had my iPod on while paying, so I guess the cashier thought I couldn't hear him when he asked his other cashier friend:

"Is this a boy or a girl?"
"I don't know"
"It's a girl"
"How do you know?"
"I have psychic powers, and besides, she's wearing a handbag"

Strike 3.
Last Monday I went out for lunch at Nando's with Kikie, Atie and Ikhwan. After paying the bills, the cashier handed the receipt to me, and said:

"Thank you. Here's your receipt, Sir."


And I have been wearing a pair of combat boots with baggy pants and spiky hair ever since.


You want a boy?
I'll give you a boy.