Choose drab. Choose ordinary. Choose a single gender. Choose a limited wardrobe. Choose hairy legs, grubby nails, dull hair and body odour. Choose to have no excuses for not answering the door on a Sunday morning. Choose a mullet. Choose Burtons. Choose a two-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fabrics. Choose DIY and not panicking because you left a pair of tights drying in your bathroom just before your mum walks in there. Choose sitting on a couch on a Saturday night in a pair of ill-fitting jeans watching Granada Men and Motors on a big-screen television. Choose spending your whole life living in the tiny box of acceptable behaviours that were set in stone the moment the doctor ticked the little box marked "boy". Choose your future. Choose drab.

But why would I want to do that?

I chose not to chose drab. I chose something else.

And the reasons?

There are no reasons when you’re a tranny.