We interrupt this journal for a brief rant

So Sylvia and I went out Christmas shopping, and it's cold, so I put on trousers because I don't consider frostbite to be a suitable approach to orchidectomy, but they're women's trousers of course, and I have a lilac top poking out from under my coat, and even though I don't have any makeup on I'm hopefully looking the feminine side of androgynous, and after we've got a few bits and pieces for relatives I think it'd be a good idea to go into Evans and have a look for some reasonable shoes which are nicer than my very practical pink trainers, but not as crippling as my nice shoes and boots, but nearly all the shoes for larger sizes are frumpy as hell apart from one pair, which is OK, so I ask the assistant is they have it in my size and she wanders off for ages, and then comes back and says, "No, but we have it two sizes smaller, are you with somebody? Who is it for?" And I tell her it's for me, and she acts all surprised, which is annoying as hell, and so we leave and go to BHS, and apart from the rows and rows of vile frump that almost look like the shoes my dad used to wear in the 70s, they have a nice pair that fit me, and I take them to the counter where there are 5 assistants, none of whom actually seem to be serving, and eventually I get served, and they must be the last shop in the known universe that doesn't have a Chip and Pin machine, and my debit card still has my old name on it, and she makes a show of checking the signature, looking at the male name on the card, looking at me, checking the signature again, looking at the name again, before finally giving me the shoes and ending the ritual humiliation, and then we walked back in the cold and I'm tired and pissed off and I want a hug.