The group spoke with no distinction or cadence.I leaned in, hoping to hear what they were saying. The spoke with such animation. Drinks were sloshed, penances taken and the talks continued.

I wondered if I was the subject of their misogynist stares. I am a man, I insisted to them, hoping they would believe me. Their stares grew meaner, the words clearer.

“What?” I cupped my ear with one hand, with the other holding my drink.

One of them sprang forth with the news. They believed me. I was a man, in their eyes. The worst kind.

I pretended not to hear them, went over the next crowd at the party, hoping for better news.