PrideSource.com
“DEAR DIARY: Well, after my nagging wife, my dodo sister-in-law, and Pastor Verner Blitzkrieg subjected me to an intervention last month, I finally got up nerve to attend my first Cross Dressers Anonymous for Jesus meeting.
“There were twelve of us sitting in a circle like so many shy turtledoves, all cooing, all aflutter — some looking quite stunning. Others, like myself, just stunned looking. (DD: It’s really sucks to be born wallflower plain with plump ankles. Pardon the pun — giggle, giggle — we all have our cross dress to bear.)
“I didn’t recognize a darn soul, ‘tho one guy looked a little like officer O’Leary. Too many bouffant wigs, K-Mart Thrifty Days discount see-through frocks, rhinestone sunglasses! And those Jesus in the Garden fans flapping to get a breeze going — coyly keeping IDs a secret — which is OK by me: I’m no makeup pro. (Plus, my fishnet hose had a run. An earring got caught in my beaded clutch bag. My eyeliner ran blue rivers. My acid reflux fluxed and my stomach tooted.)
“You’d think by now DD that lipstick puckering would be a piece of cake. It tain’t, even tho I’ve spent years of my life puckering. (I got started at six.) Maybe it’s the fruity taste. Or my crazy fear of leaving unladylike traces on coffee cups. (Just the other day I got booted outta Java Hut.) I just can’t muster energy to puck pertly or provocatively anymore.
“But I wasn’t the drabbest tranny, DD. No way. (Fortunately I don’t have to worry about 5 o’clock shadow like ‘Rita Belle’ who sat winking coyly at me — wisely spending some of my precinct retirement money for electrolysis. And, thank God for underarm Nair for Men.)
“I am sorry, tho, that I wore a half slip under my plaid pleated skirt — the church basement was stiflingly hot. I got jock itch at the most inappropriate moments during ‘share your dress-up sins’ time. (My peekaboo, 38-triple D Cup provided no ventilation.)