Dear Bus Girl,

I saw you board the bus this morning and thought ‘now there’s a cool chick’.

You had an outrageous floral skirt on with loud yellows and purples, a long wool scarf and as much pink as you would dare, shoes and tights and accessories.

You sat right next to me in the easy access area with my broken foot boot dangling out in front of me and I felt happy.

I was happy because you’re a femme and you didn’t once look me in the eye and it was cool – our silent acknowledgement of one another’s presence.

You were so nerdy that it made me want to grin because I’m like a moth to a flame for mismatched, glasses-wearing girls with a penchant for sci-fi or something obscure and intellectual. And it might not have been cool when I was a twenty-something and I might have wanted to compete with you then, but now, it’s just fine if you’re smarter than me. And I bet you are.

The lime green casing over your iphone would have melted if you had looked into it any harder. I’m sorry if I made it uncomfortable for you, if you felt my gaze pressing a little too hard. I didn’t mean to interfere with your early morning reverie. I was merely appreciating you.

Today this butch noticed a kindred and it made me feel not so alone among a sea of average looking people, going about their average day. We were co-conspirators or at least that’s what my imagination wanted me to believe.

That somewhere we might pass each other by again with our respective partners and a tip of my cap would just be me saying ‘hey, glad you’re one of us’.