I dreamed I was trapped in a Women’s Bathroom at a rest stop on I-95 with Caitlyn Jenner.  We’re washing up at adjoining sinks, our faces reflected in the mirror.

Bright and chatty, reveling in her still new identity, she wants to make girl talk.

“Those eyes of yours would pop with some mascara,”she tells me, not that I asked.

“Mascara smears up my glasses, ” I tell her.

“Girl, you need to get contacts. This very minute-”

” I have a perfectly reasonable phobia about touching my eyeballs,” I start to say but she’s inexorable.

“Girl, when was the last time you used moisturizer? Moisturizer. That’s the stuff you put on your face before the foundation. You’ve heard of foundation? “

With a regime of skincare that could take a mere hour or two a day, she says, I could turn back the clock.

Turning back the clock is exactly what scares me.

Back to the days when no one had civil rights except white guys who could afford lawyers? No thank you.

Every human being , not just heterosexual white guys with cash, is entitled to be treated with dignity in public places. If this means Caitlyn Jenner gets to use the same bathroom as I do, so be it.

As long as I don’t have to talk to her.