Neighbors who have lived two doors down from us since 2014 still think I’m married to a woman. They sent me a Christmas card addressed to “Ms [my name] and Ms [N’s name]”. Because they have convinced themselves that a male name just can’t end with an A (although, what about Ezra, Joshua, or Dana?), and no evidence of their lying eyes will convince them of the opposite.
They could have asked themselves, where is this woman I’m married to? Why does nobody ever see her? And who’s the guy who’s always around and keeps doing half-naked pushups in the backyard? But no, the intellectual process never switches on.
Curiously, N is mildly entertained by being “misgendered.” I heard people are supposed to get massively wounded when it happens but he seems immune.
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