The best compliment I have ever received to date was from one of my favorite TAs who told me, unsolicited, that I reminded her of 10.
When pressed for details, she muttered something about the speed in which I do everything then she flapped her hands about helplessly, shrugged her shoulders and said “You just do.” This completely vague comment notwithstanding, I still get all warm and fuzzy when I think of it. After all, 10 is my Doctor, and to be reminiscent of him in any capacity is high praise indeed.
Only for 10 would I go full-frontal cross dresser on you guys. There’s just something about him that demands a pinstriped jacket and trainers. (Or sand shoes, but we’re being nice here.) I suppose I could have femmed it by throwing on a skirt, but 10 is always on the move – always running – and pants just seemed more appropriate for his frenetic personality.
I can see myself wearing this outfit when I’m feeling particularly snarky and cocky. When my masculine side comes out. It doesn’t happen often anymore – not since I had kids and no longer have the liberty to be anything but traditional and constant – but there was a time when I’d channel my inner dude several times a week. I’ve even been accused of being more “guy-like” in the way I think and process information.
And let’s just say I can do a four in hand knot in my sleep, a double Windsor if I pay attention.
Dunno if that’s a good thing, a bad thing, or just a thing. All I know is that if I ever have the opportunity to almost die, have my brain saved and hermetically sealed for future technological advances then implanted into the body of anyone I choose, I’d choose David Tennant as the 10th Doctor.
Don’t judge me.