Beth's voice had begun to sound like an unintelligible adult from a Charlie Brown cartoon. A few minutes earlier I'd simply asked if her sister would be joining us for dinner. Ten minutes later I was still waiting for the story she was telling to lead me to the answer. Finally I snapped.
"So is she joining us or not?"
"Hey, I was getting to that. What's wrong with you? You usually like my stories."
"I don't know, it's just…I asked you like ten minutes ago. It was a simple question."
"You know, Mandy and I have both noticed you've been a lot more impatient lately and less sensitive. We think it's that damn testosterone."
They were right. I had kind of noticed it too, but never made the connection. My tone was different and not just because my voice had changed. I was more confident, sticking up for my ideas and speaking up more in meetings. I was couching things less and being more direct—telling it like it is, both inside and apparently outside the office.
"Oh no. Am I turning into a dick?"
"No, you're not a dick," Beth said. "You're just more like a guy. I just have to get used to it."
So did I. When I began the injections, I was well informed of the physical changes the testosterone would have on my body. But I was not prepared for the emotional ones. While going through this adjustment period, it became clear to me that a lot of male and female gender stereotyping is definitely rooted in legitimate hormonal differences. Take aggression for example. As a woman, I used to watch guys get into drunken arguments that escalated into fistfights and wonder what the hell was wrong with them. Then, after a few months on testosterone, there I was throwing the first punch. At a Halloween party…dressed as a used Kleenex.
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