A Blahaj, it says, is about the most massively useful thing a trans girl can have. Partly it has great practical value. You can cuddle with it for warmth during the cold nights at hacker camps; you can lie on it on the grassy fields of GPN, inhaling the heady cannabis vapours; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Darmstadt; wet it for use in hand-to-hand-combat; wrap it round your head to avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Puppygirl (such a mind-bogglingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can't see it, it can't see you — daft as a brush, but very very ravenous); you can wave your Blahaj in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course cuddle it for comfort, if it still seems to be clean enough.
More importantly, a Blahaj has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a cishet (cishet: non-transgender heterosexual) discovers that a trans girl has her Blahaj with her, he will automatically assume that she is also in possession of soldering equipment, an oscilloscope, all sorts of Linux systems, electrical tape, estrogen, syringes, needles, milligramme scale, bottle opener, etc., etc. Furthermore, the cishet will then happily lend the trans girl any of these or a dozen other items that the trans girl might accidentally have "lost." What the cishet will think is that any woman who can transition the length and breadth of the gender spectrum, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where her Blahaj is, is clearly a woman to be reckoned with.
Hence a phrase that has passed into queer slang, as in "Hey, you fw that creature Miya Ironami? There's a cutie who didn't forgor where her Blahaj is." (fw: know, be aware of, meet, have sex with.)
Miya Ironami 🌸
@iro_miya@mk.absturztau.be
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