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ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND BY Missy Crystal Chapter 1. Coming Out. "Who are YOU?" said the Caterpillar. This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, "I--I hardly know, sir, just at present-- at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then." - Lewis Caroll, Alice in Wonderland It was Friday. I left work early. Today was the day. I had rehearsed it dozens of times. None of them were right. It didn't matter. I couldn't wait any longer. I walked into the house. Helen was in the kitchen. "We need to talk." So much for rehearsal. "We need to talk?" She looked surprised. "About what?" "About me." "You?" "Yes." "I know you've been working really hard lately. Do you want to take a vacation? We could visit the kids. Or just go somewhere and relax. I don't care." "No. Me as in us." "What?" Her eyes went wide. "You're leaving me. Oh no, please no. I, I, know things have been difficult the last few years, we've seemed to grow apart, but we can work it out." "No, I'm not leaving you. I'm leaving me." "That doesn't make any sense." Please, let's go in the living room and sit down, so I can explain." I took her hand and walked her to the sofa. I sat down beside her. "There's no easy way for me to say this. I'm transgendered." She just looked at me with a blank expression. "I've tried for so long, but now it's time for me." She pulled her hand away. "It's not possible. You're not gay. I would know." "No, not gay. Transgendered. I'm not in love with another man. I love you. But I hate my body. I should have been born a woman. Now it's time for me to correct that mistake." "Correct it? How?" She paused. Her eyes went wide. She put her hand to her mouth. "Oh my God, you mean you, you wouldn't. How could you do that to yourself?" "I'm not doing anything to myself. Nature did it to me." "What about me, George? What about the children? Nature didn't do anything to us. What about your work? It took you years to build your practice. You can't just give it, you can't just give us, up without thinking it through." "I have thought it through. For the last forty years I have done nothing but think it through. For my parents' sake, I was their son. For your sake, I was your husband. For the kids sake, I was their father. But my parents are gone. The kids are grown. Over the last few months I have been transferring my clients to the other CPA's and now I'm doing mostly management. Whatever you want or need, the house, our savings, it doesn't matter. I owe you that." "Owe me?" Owe me!" She waved her arms. "What the hell George. Do you think I married you for a house or money? I want the man," she emphasized man,"I married. That's what I want." She stopped and composed herself. "Look, isn't there some way we can work this out? If it will make you happy, you can wear a dress or whatever around the house. I mean, how do you know you're a woman if you've never been a woman? Try it before you make a decision you can't take back. You'll see. It isn't that wonderful. I get up an hour before you do to do my hair and put on my makeup. You're already in bed while I'm still going through my nighttime routine. You pay $25 for a haircut. I pay $175 to have my hair done and another $35 for a mani-pedi. You wear the same suit and comfortable shoes when we go out. I spend hundreds of dollars for a dress that I wear a few times and heels that I can barely walk in. Why would you choose to be a woman, if you weren't born one?" "It's not a matter of choice. Grace is who I was born." "Grace? Who is Grace?" "I'm Grace." "Okay, if you're Grace, then where's George? What happened to him?" "Nothing happened to him. He never existed." "My compliments to Grace as an actress. She had me fooled. All these years, I thought my husband was a man. I wonder who got me pregnant. Twice. Not Grace." "I'm sorry, Helen. I know this is confusing. I wish you would come with me to see Dr. Rosen." "Dr. Rosen? Who is he?" "Roberta Rosen. She's a psychiatrist who I've been working with." "For how long has this been going on?" "Since I made up my mind to come out. Over a year." "You've been seeing her for more than a year and this is just coming out now? "No, not coming out as in telling you. Well, yes, that too. Coming out to the world as Grace." "Why wait? You don't seem to care who you hurt." "Helen, no, I do care. I care very much. That's why it has been such a difficult decision that took me months of counseling to make." "So she's the one who told you to do this?" "No. She's the one who helped me to do this." "I would like to see her, George. I have some things that I want to say to her about you. About us. If she's a doctor, she should be helping you to get over this, not confusing you." "I see her on Wednesday afternoons. You can come with me. In the meantime, it's been a long day and I am very tired. I should sleep in the guest room. I'll move my things. Good night. I'm sorry. I, I, don't know. I hoped, I wanted, I thought it might, that I might, that it would go better. I love you." I left Helen on the couch and went upstairs. I changed into my pajamas and was about to get into bed when there was there was a knock on the door. "Can I come in, please?" "Yes, of course." "I know that this must be very hard for you. I'm the one who should apologize. Our wedding vows, for better or for worse. You deserved better." She looked at me and shook her head. "Women only wear men's pajama tops." Anyway, here." She held out something. I took it from her. "I got this for working at the garden club sale." It was a pale pink t-shirt with a bouquet of red roses on the front. "I thought I was taking an M, but instead it was XXL. It's much to big for me." And here." She handed me a bottle. "It's a citrus facial scrub. A woman's skin is her second most important feature." I looked down at my chest. "No, it's our hair. You're lacking in that department too. Good night." She went back into our bedroom. I could hear her crying. The next morning I waited until I heard Helen in the kitchen. I shaved, got dressed and went downstairs. "Good morning." She turned. "Grace needs some serious help with her wardrobe." "I thought you wanted George back?" "I do, but I'm not going to get him, am I?" "No." "Well, if my husband is gone, then I will have to learn to live with Grace." She thought for a bit. "So what does that make me? Her sister? Her girlfriend? Her roommate? Gay women refer to their partner as a wife. Is Grace my wife? I need to know how to introduce you." She thought some more. "If your not gay and I have a wife, am I?" "Honestly, I thought that you would refer to me as your transgendered ex-husband. I hadn't considered the possibility of an alternative. For now, I think just Grace." "And where did the name Grace come from? Why not something sexy or exotic? Not that I have anything against Grace. Its just kind of old fashioned." "I have no illusions that I will ever be either sexy or exotic. Grace was the prettiest and most popular girl in the third grade, with long blonde hair, she usually wore it in pig tails with bows, and big blue eyes. I knew I wanted to be her. To wear dresses with petticoats and black patent leather shoes with straps. I just didn't understand why." "Why didn't you say something to your parents?" "I was afraid. I wanted to, but I couldn't. At first, I didn't understand. I knew that I was different, but not the reason. Being transgendered wasn't something that was openly discussed in those days. As I got older, I realized what it was, but I couldn't talk to my parents. They wouldn't have accepted it. Being gay, I don't think they even made a distinction for transgendered, was considered a form of mental illness. At best, Dad would have told me to stop the nonsense, warned me that if he caught me fooling around, as he would have put it, I would get the licking of my life, maybe threaten to ship me off to military school to make a man of me. At worst, I'd be sent for counseling to cure me and, if not, then it wasn't unusual for parents to disown children or at least send them away where they couldn't be an embarrassment." "Oh." "I heard you crying last night." "Yes, the song is right." "What song?" "I thought you were good with '60's pop trivia. The Frankie Valli song, you know, 'big girls don't cry. La, la, la. That's just an alibi.' We do. It's our coping mechanism." She looked me over and shook her head. "Grace has a long way to go. There's more to being a woman than not having balls. You know the saying." "Another song?" "No, 'pretty is as pretty does." She smiled." You need less talking and more doing. I know, lets go shopping. That always makes a woman feel better." "Shopping for you?" "Yes, of course. I need a big strong man to push the cart and protect my pocketbook while I go into the dressing room and try on clothes." "Last night I thought you were against my coming out." "That was last night." "I know what you're doing." "That makes one of us." "Reverse psychology. You think that if you go along with me, I'll get over my whimsy." "Even if that were true, what difference does it make. You told me Grace is her to stay. What harm is there if I choose to believe otherwise." "I don't want you to be disappointed." "I'm already disappointed. I don't think there's really a superlative for disappointment." "Look," I pointed to a glass of orange juice on the table. "Pretend that's a magic potion that will permanently change your gender. Last night you told me it was better to be a man than a woman. Will you dink it?" She shook her head. "I'm a woman and I like being a woman. I don't want to be a man." I picked up the glass and drank it. "Neither do I." Chapter 2. Going Out. "I can't go back to yesterday, because I was a different person then." - Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland "How about a compromise?" she bargained. "I promise that I'll do everything I can to help you experience what it's like to be a woman, a complete wardrobe and personal make over, but Grace stays at home until we see Dr. Rosen. If you're still determined to be transgendered, then we can go away, someplace where nobody will know us. I don't want to change our life until we're both," she emphasized both, "ready." She looked at me hopefully. "I will always be transgendered. That's not going to change. But I don't mind postponing my debut, if it will make it easier for you. Patience is one of Grace's many virtues." "I hope housekeeping is another one. There's no end of fun to being a woman." "I never expected it to be easy. Besides, we have a cleaning service." "Finish your breakfast. A glass of magic potion won't get you through a day of shopping." "Maybe I should skip breakfast." "That's what girdles are for. There's nothing like having your body compressed into an unnatural shape for the sake of fashion. I told you, being a woman is non-stop fun. You can start right in." There was no sense arguing with her. I got myself a bowl of cornflakes and some milk and fruit from the 'fridge. "We should at least buy skim milk and Special K." "When Grace does the grocery shopping, she can buy whatever she wants. Right now, she needs to do less talking and more eating, if she wants to have enough time to shop." It was a bossy side of Helen I hadn't seen before, but maybe she was compensating for being uncomfortable or nervous. She had every reason to be stressed about taking her husband shopping for women's clothes. Not that her attitude mattered. And she was calling me Grace. "Okay, Honey." She frowned. "Sorry, old habits die hard. "Okay, Helen." I spooned up the last of the cereal, rinsed the bowl and put it in the dishwasher. "I'm Ready." "Is Grace driving or am I?" "George is driving." "I thought George was a fiction of Grace's imagination?" "Grace's driver's license still says George." "Graces driver's license still says male." "Can we go, please? I'll drive." She conceded and got into the passenger's side of my car. I pulled out of the garage and stopped at the end of the driveway. "Where are we going? "Where would you like to go?" "I don't know, this is all new to me." "You've never worn women's clothes before?" "I would sneak into my mother's room and try on her clothes, but there wasn't a lot that I could fit into by the time I got up the courage to do it and I was always worried that I would get caught. Later, when I was living on m own, I bought some things, but it was really uncomfortable shopping for myself in those days. The saleswomen were much more attentive and lingerie was behind the counter, so you had to ask for it. I would look through magazines or the JC Penny and Sears catalogs for clothes. Then I would write down a description in my imitation of feminine script, go to the store, show the note to the saleswoman and pretend that I was buying it for my mother or sister. My guess is that they knew, but didn't want to pass up a sale, as long as we maintained the illusion. An early version of don't ask, don't tell. I never really had much of anything that went together. As the woman who has everything, what do you think?" "I suggest we start with some basic skirts and dresses. That way, we can be sure Grace has the right bras and underpants to go with her outfits?" "I thought women called them panties?" "Some do. Some don't. To me panties are the skimpy, lace trimmed nylon ones for which we pay $25 to look pretty in case we get hit by a bus and have to hand wash if we don't. Underpants are the comfortable cotton ones that come in three packs, cost $12 and get thrown in the washer, if we avoid hospitalization." "Oh." "I take it by your disappointment, that Grace likes panties." I nodded and she smiled. "Don't go by me. You'll see. I'm in the minority. When we get to the lingerie section, there's a sea of panties and a couple of racks of underpants against the back wall. Grace can be as femmy as she wants. Okay?" "Okay." Helen thought for a minute. "Let's go to the mall." We pulled out and headed towards the highway. Suddenly, Helen turned to me. "I've changed my mind." "We're not going to the mall? You want me to turn around?" "Yes and no. Yes, we're not going to the mall. No, we're not going home. We're going to Kohls." "You're worried about being seen shopping with me?" "Honestly, no. Nobody cares about a woman dragging her husband along while she shops for clothes. All you need to do is follow me around and look grumpy." She paused in thought. "I always wondered why you didn't want to go with me. Now it makes sense. It wasn't that you didn't want to shop. It was because you did." "Yes," I admitted. "I'm sorry." "It's not your fault. It's society's. Boys are boys and girls are girls and never the twain shall meet. I did my best to make you believe that." "I suppose well done is not comforting." "No, but it served its purpose." "A frustrating purpose." "A necessary purpose. So, are we shopping or commiserating?" "Both. Um, where was I?" "Explaining your choice of venues." "I never thought of it that way. Anyway, the mall has nicer stores, but I'm thinking that for now you just need the basics. The discount department stores like Kohls have a good selection and there are fewer sales people about, which makes it easier to browse. Turn left on Washington and head towards Oakdale. Kohls also has a really good 'no questions asked' policy on returns, turn right at the next light. Chapter 3. Being Out. "Alice, you cannot live your life to please others. The choice must be yours, because when you step out to face that creature, you will step out alone." - Mirana, the White Queen, Alice in Wonderland 2010 Helen looked around and headed towards the women's section. "What should we look at first? Skirts? Dresses?" I shrugged. "Really? All those years of anticipation and now its up to me. That's a lot of pressure." Her face lit up. "I know what you want!" "Really, how?" "You told me." "When?" "When you were explaining about Grace. You want a pretty party dress with petticoats." I look down sheepishly. "Sorry, Sweetie," as if she was talking to a little girl, "but the full slips with the lacy bodice and layers of frills you remember went out in the 50's. They did make you feel like a princess when you got dressed up," she reminisced. "I remember that my parents took me to Disney World when I was five or six. Mom bought me a Cinderella dress. It had a big full skirt, pale blue silk and white lacy cap sleeves. I wore one of those petticoats under it. There was a sparkly tiara and magic wand too. I have no idea why Cinderella had a magic wand. Her fairy godmother was the one who cast the spell." She waved her hand in a circle and then pointed at me, "bibbity, bobbity, boo." She tilted her head. "Nope. Only works on vegetables and rodents. Sorry." Suddenly she looked at me with compassion. "Oh, you poor dear. Now I understand how hard it must have been for you growing up. All of my memories of being a girl. You'll never have them." "I can't go back, only forward." "Maybe you can." "You brought a time machine in your pocketbook?" "No, but some things are timeless. I can't turn you into Cinderella. That pumpkin has already left. But you remember Grace when she was a school girl. I can do that. A jumper" she suggested excitedly, "with a blouse and knee socks or tights. A pleated skirt. Or a kilt. Wait here." Before I could say anything she walked over to a woman folding clothes. There was a brief conversation. The woman shook her head. There was another exchange. The woman pointed towards the back of the store. Helen came back and took my arm. "C'mon." I resisted. She tugged. "C'mon," she repeated. I looked around cautiously. "Shouldn't I be grumpy?" "I don't care. Grumpy, Happy, Bashful, pick a dwarf, but lets go." She dragged me along. We wandered around while she inspected racks of clothes and then she saw whatever it was she was trying to find. She brought me over and picked out what looked like bib overalls, but it had a skirt instead of legs. She held it up in front of her with her one hand and flattened it against her stomach with the other. "Do you think Grace would like this? She displayed it by swinging from side to side. "It's corduroy and comes in, lets see," she rummaged around,"brown, oh, here's navy and dark blue and hunter green." Do you think Grace has a preference? I like the blue, but... ." I looked around. There were a couple of women sorting through a rack of clothes nearby and chatting. Nobody was paying us any attention. "I think she would like the blue." "What size? The large looks about right, but its loose fitting, maybe the medium," she debated with herself. "Turn around." "What?" "Turn around. I want to measure it against you." "I thought we left Grace at home." "We did. She just happens to be your size. Really, just turn around. Trust me, nobody cares." I did as she asked and felt her holding it against my back. "I don't know, probably the large. Better too big than too small. We can always take it in or take it back." She took my arm. We went over to the blouses and Helen picked out a white one with a rounded collar. She slid it under the straps of the jumper and held it out for my approval. I nodded. "Turn around." This time I did it without protest. "Probably a large or extra large." We took both. We continued shopping and Grace ended up with a blue and green tartan plaid wool kilt with two leather buckles, paired with a blue sweater set. In the hosiery department, Helen picked out a pair of wool cable knit knee sox and blue nylon tights. "You don't need a bra for now. Just a camisole. And panties of course." Shoes were a problem. The largest size was 10. "Lets take what we have and go home, so you," she caught herself, "so Grace can try them on. We can go for shoes and do returns tomorrow." We headed back to the car with our arms loaded with bags. When we got home, Helen went upstairs and ran a bath for me. It smelled like lilacs. I always showered, so this was a treat. Even more so when Helen came in with a pink razor and shaving gel. "Turn around, so I can do your back." "You don't have to, its not necessary." "I made a promise and I mean to keep it. And it is necessary. I told you, pretty is as pretty does and pretty doesn't have hairy underarms or legs." She handed me the razor and gel. "You can do the rest yourself." "Don't forget to put on my Secret before you get dressed. You know..." she trailed off as she headed downstairs . When I got out, I felt wonderfully feminine. I wrapped a towel around me and went into the bedroom. The clothes were all laid out on the bed. I put on the camisole and panties, pulled on the tights, stepped into the jumper and adjusted the straps over my shoulder. I did a turn in front of the mirror to check that everything was in place and went downstairs. Helen was standing at the counter preparing dinner. I wasn't sure what her reaction would be, laugh, cry, scream. To my relief, she smiled. "Turn around." She came over and fussed with the jumper. "No makeup?" "Too little time." "There's always time for lipstick." She got a thin gold tube out of her purse. "This is just a tinted gloss. Not too dramatic, just a hint of color. Open." She applied a coating to my lips and then went over it. Put your lips together. Good." She stood back studied me. "Do you like being Grace?" "I'm transgendered, not schizophrenic. I like being me." "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. This is still, you know, it takes some getting used to," she waved her arm towards me, "all of this." "Apology accepted." I tried to do a curtsey, holding out the sides of my skirt and extending one leg backwards. It got a laugh. "Where did you learn to do that?" "The Shirley Temple movies I watched growing up weren't wasted. I can do "Animal Crackers in My Soup." Helen shook her head and pointed to the table. "Just as well not, dinner's ready." I went to sit down. "Wait." I paused mid squat. "Run your hands under your skirt, so it doesn't bunch up and wrinkle. Like this." I followed her example and sat down. After dinner Helen suggested that I try on the kilt and sweaters. I kept on the underwear, but changed out of the tights and put on the knee socks. It took me a little time to master the way the waist wrapped and the buckles, but it was worth it. The kilt was short, about two inches above my knees. I went back downstairs and modeled the outfit. "Mommy's little girl looks very pretty," Helen cooed. "No, please. I like the clothes, but not the fantasy. I know you're trying to make me happy, but Grace is real and talking to me that way makes it seem like I'm pretending. "I'm confused. You wanted me to dress you like a little girl, but not for me to treat you like one, because you're not one, even though you look like one?" "I told you that I couldn't go backwards. You thought I could. I tried, but I can't. Now I know for certain. Grace is my future, not my past." "Then Grace needs to do some serious shopping tomorrow. I'm exhausted. We should go to bed and get a fresh start in the morning." Helen took my hand and we walked up the stairs together. She stopped in front of the master bedroom. "Good night and thank you," I said to her, as I turned and started down the hall. "Good night and you're welcome, but where are you going?" "To my room." "This is your room." "You want me to sleep here? In bed? With you?" "I promise I won't compromise your virtue." "You're sure?" "That I won't compromise your virtue? Very." "You're sure that you want to share your bed with Grace." I'm sure that I want to share my bed with you." Chapter 4. Staying Out "Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast." - Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland Helen was already up. I could hear her in the bathroom and then going downstairs to the kitchen. I got out of bed and took off my nightgown. It still had a faint smell of lilacs from last night's bath, so I took a shower. Helen must have heard the water turn off. "Breakfast is ready," she called up. "Hurry, we still have a lot of shopping to do. I'll be in the study. I have a few calls to make while you eat." Ten minutes later she returned. I was finishing my coffee. "I thought we'd go to Kohls first, return the clothes we bought yesterday and put together a wardrobe. Then we can go to DSW for shoes and to the mall." "I thought you were against the mall?" "For clothes, yes, but you need jewelry. You can share mine, but my earrings are for pierced ears. There's a store at the mall that does it." "You want me to get my ears pierced?" "Two tiny holes in your ear lobes are the least of the changes you want to make to you body. Besides, if you should change your mind, you can take them out and the holes will close up. A dab of makeup will cover them until the do." "Okay." She looked at the clock on the microwave. "We should get going. I made a three o'clock appointment for you at the wig shop." "A wig too?" "I promised you the full experience and I am a woman of my word. I can cancel the appointment. Should I?" "Another test?" "Another opportunity. So, what's the problem?" "It's not a problem. Like I told you the other day, I expected you to leave me and tell everyone that it was because I was transgendered." "You were expecting me to be the harbinger of Grace's arrival?" "Yes," I admitted meekly. "I thought you wanted to wear skirts, not hide behind them." "I'm sorry. The 'Dummies Guide to Being Transgendered' was out of stock at Amazon. "'The best laid plans of mice and men' has a new meaning." "They're open on Sunday?" I asked, trying to change the subject. "Yes. I spoke to Doris the owner. I wanted to be sure we weren't wasting our time. She said it was no problem, that she has a number of crossdressers and trans-women as customers. According to her, more than I would expect and some who I would never suspect, who require discretion. That's why on Sunday they're open only by appointment and we have an appointment," she looked at the clock again, "which we are going to miss if we don't leave now. Yes or no?" "Yes." This time Helen drove. It was a wonderful day of shopping. We bought two skirts, blouses and sweaters to mix and match, a sweater dress and a dress that she thought I should wear if I went back to work, pantyhose, an assortment of panties and a nightgown. She based her selection of sizes on what we bought yesterday, except we didn't buy a bra. We stopped in front of an Olga display. She took a white one off the rack and held it up. "There's such a variation in women's breast size and shape that it's impossible to find a bra with the right lift, separation, shape and support without trying it on. Except of course, if you don't have breasts, and then it doesn't matter. Do you have a preference in cup size?" "C" "If men's suit size and bra size are the same, you're a 38." She picked out three and put them in the cart. I followed her as she picked out five more. "Okay, lets go." I wasn't sure why I needed eight bras, but it was not a conversation I wanted to have in the middle of the lingerie department. Helen started towards the back of the store. "You're going the wrong way. The checkout area is over there." She kept walking. "We're not checking out yet." We ended up in the men's department. She went over to a table of jeans and picked out two. She carried them towards the dressing rooms. I had no idea what she was doing, but followed her. She stopped in front of one of the open rooms, looked around, took out the bras and hid them under jeans. "Here, go try these on." "What? You're kidding. What if there are cameras?" "There are no cameras in dressing rooms. It's illegal." "What if someone sees me?" "In a dressing room with the door closed. Unless Lois Lane is shopping with Superman and he uses his x-ray vision, you're safe. If you don't want to attract attention, then stop making a fuss," she scolded me. It took me a while to try them on. "What's taking you so long? The little hooks attach to the little eyes. You have worn a bra before, haven't you?" "Helen, please. Stop. I'm uncomfortable." "With the bras or with me talking to you?" "Both. Okay, I'm done. Can I come out? "I thought you agreed to wait until after we saw Dr. Rosen." "You know what I mean." "Other than a guy trying on dresses in the next room, you're good." "Helen!" "Come out." I cautiously opened the door. Helen was standing next to the cart. I handed her three bras. "You want those?" I nodded. She put them in the cart. "What about the other ones? If you're worried bout appearances, you probably shouldn't leave them in the men's dressing room. I went back and brought them out." We went to the check out area. I hung back as the cashier rang up the sale. I thought she would be curious about the assortment of clothes in sizes which wouldn't fit Helen. She paid no attention, scanning, folding and bagging. Helen handed her a credit card, she asked if she wanted to open a store credit account and get a 10% discount, Helen said no, the woman swiped the card, I dutifully picked up the bags and we went to the car. We returned home at dinner time with starter studs in my ears, a beautiful brunette wig with reddish highlights, Doris suggested that a straight style and above the shoulder length were easier for me care for, the one I selected had bangs and was angled, longer in front and shorter in back, two pair of flats, two pair of low heels, a pair of boots and a pair of stilettos, which Helen made me promise not to wear while dressed, wanting to preserve my memory as husband and father, if I broke my neck, the shoes being easily removed before the EMT's arrived. Helen told me to go upstairs and start trying things on, confiscating the heels, to be returned when I was safely on the first floor. For the next two days, Helen kept her promise. On Tuesday night, as we were getting ready for bed, she asked me, "Was being a woman what you expected?" "I still am. Our agreement was a postponement, not an alternative. Goodnight Helen. I love you." "Goodnight, George. I love you too." She rolled over and we went to sleep. Wednesday morning, things were back to normal, more or less. Helen had to go out to do the grocery shopping and take some clothes to the cleaners. I told her not to bother with my suits or dress shirts, since they were going to Goodwill. She took them anyway. In deference to our agreement, while she was gone I took out the studs, scrubbed off any trace of makeup and removed the nail polish. We left the house at three fifteen for a four o'clock appointment. I drove. At the medical office building, we checked in with the receptionist and took the elevator to the sixth floor. We followed the corridor and stopped in front of a door with "Roberta Rosen, M.D., Dept. Of Psychiatry. Please knock before entering." We knocked and entered. Dr. Rosen was seated behind a large glass table which served as her desk. I always wondered whether the transparency was an expression of her professional views or a coincidence. She got up when we came in and walked around to greet us. "Good afternoon, Grace, and this must be Helen?" "Must I," Helen challenged her. I gave her a disapproving look, which she ignored. "I can't imagine anyone else who Grace would bring with her, but no you could be someone else. Are you?" Dr. Rosen replied cordially. "No," Helen conceded. "Then welcome. Please come and be seated. She directed us to two upholstered arm chairs next to one another and sat in a third directly opposite us. "I assume you are here because you don't agree with Grace's decision to come out." "I am here, because I don't agree with you encouraging him to abandon his wife, his children, his work and his life." "What makes you think I did?" "Because, if you didn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation." "I am flattered that you think I have that much influence over my patients. In fact, it is quite the opposite. We always hope for the best, but my work is to prepare them emotionally for the worst. I cannot ethically certify them for SRS, sexual reassignment surgery, or even HRT, hormone replacement therapy, until I am convinced they are ready. If and when they are depends on them, not me." "Dr. Rosen ... " "Roberta." "Dr. Rosen," Helen persisted," you're a woman." I could see a sudden realization that perhaps she was making an unwarranted assumption. "You are, aren't you?" "Yes, I was born female, if that's your question." "Aren't they the same thing?" "No." "George isn't female or a woman." Helen turned and looked at me, "I'm sorry, but it's the truth," she apologized. "Why would you encourage him to be something he is not?" "True, Grace can never by female. Our sex is determined by the combination of our chromosomes at the time of conception. But what makes you think she is not a woman?" "High school biology, first hand experience and the resulting two children." "Anatomically and biologically you are correct, but psychologically you are wrong. Grace is as much a woman as you or me." "That's impossible." "Grace was born female, but nature gave her the wrong genitals. HRT and SRS, can repair that mistake superficially. The rest is up to her." "But she will never be able to have children. Isn't that what being a woman is all about?" "Do you think so? Is maternity what define us? What about the women who can't have children, who never marry, who have a hysterectomy or who choose not to have children. Your ovaries and uterus are non-functional at this stage of your life. Are you less of a woman? Is Grace?" "I don't know," Helen conceded. "This is all so confusing." "If it's confusing for you, think about Grace. She's spent her whole life, using your words, being someone she's not. Now she has a chance to be herself and the people who are most important in her life, for whom she cares the most, are against it." "I'm not against it. I'm just not for it." "Is there a difference?" "From what George has said, I can't prevent it." Dr. Rosen leaned forward. "You want Grace to be happy, don't you?" "Of course, but I don't' want George to make a decision he will regret." "Why would Grace regret her decision to transition?" "Because George loves us and wouldn't want to hurt us." "Who is us?" "Me and our children." "How would Grace's happiness be harmful to you and your children?" Helen thought about it for a minute. "I don't know," she conceded. "I do," offered Dr. Rosen. "You believe that people will think less of you because of Grace. That is the type of guilt by association which bigots perpetuate to repress diversity." She stood up and walked over to Helen. "I have two kinds of transgendered patients. Those who have reached a point in their life where they are ready to transition and those who, for a variety of reasons, cannot. For those men and women who are struggling with conformity, I can provide counseling and prescribe drugs to help with their anxiety and depression. For those like Grace, understanding and acceptance are the best medicines." We drove home in silence. Helen had let me be Grace temporarily, but I noticed that she had kept the tags from the clothes. I wasn't sure if it was just in case I changed my mind or just in case she didn't, after speaking with Dr. Rosen. Either way, it would be the end of our marriage. I parked the car and we walked into the kitchen. Helen turned to me. Let's go into the living room. She took my hand. I prepared myself for the worst. She let go of my hand, sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next to her. "I'm the right Alice." Of all of the possible rejections I had gone over in anticipation of this moment, that was not remotely one of them. "Who is Alice?" "Alice in Wonderland." "The Disney fairytale?" "Actually, it's a fantasy, there are strange characters, but no fairies, but no, not the cartoon, the movie with Johnny Depp and Mia whats-her- name-I-can-never-remember-or-pronounce. That one." "What does Alice in Wonderland have to do with me?" "At the beginning of the story, Alice meets Absalom." "Who?" "Absalom, the caterpillar. Be patient. He tells her that she is the wrong Alice to fulfill her destiny, predicted in a scroll, to slay the Jabberwocky. Alice's adventures prepare her to become the White Queen's champion. When she is ready to face the monster, Absalom tells her that now she is the right Alice." "So I'm the monster and you are going to put an end to me?" "What? No, you're not the monster." "Then I'm the White Queen who needs Alice's help? I suppose that's appropriate." "No, not her either." "The Mad Hatter? You think I'm crazy?" "Oh, for goodness sake. No. Stop talking and listen. Now, do you remember the end of the movie?" "I thought you didn't want me to talk?" "I changed my mind. It's a woman's prerogative." "I don't remember any of the movie." "About the fair or about going?" "Alice is standing at the front of a ship bound for China. She gave up the opportunity for a safe, comfortable marriage to a boring man to take on the challenges of exploring a new world. That's me. I'm the right Alice to go on a wonderful adventure. And there is a blue butterfly who appears next to her. It's Absalom. That's you. You're a drab caterpillar who turns into the beautiful butterfly that it was always your nature to become." "I love you." "I love you too. Go change." Chapter 5. Down the Rabbit Hole. "If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary- wise; what it is it wouldn't be, and what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?" -Lewis Carol, Alice in Wonderland "I don't think I will." "You don't think you will what?" "Get dressed." "I thought all of this was about you becoming Grace?" "It is and I am. Get undressed and I'll show you." "What?" "Take off your clothes." "Are we experimenting with transgendered sex? Is there such a thing? I mean how do you decide who does what? Is there a book or diagram or something?" "No, this isn't about sex." "You want me to get undressed, but this isn't about sex?" "No. Humor me." She gave me a skeptical look. "All of my clothes?" "You can leave on your panties, um, underpants." "Whatever." Helen stepped out of her shoes, unfastened her skirt and let it drop, unbuttoned her blouse, and reached behind her to unhook her bra, which she let slide off of her arms. Now what?" "Patience." I took of my shoes, socks, shirt and pants. I made a pile and handed them to her. "Put them on, please." "You want me to be the man?" "I want you to put on my clothes." "And are you going to wear mine? Sorry, but we're not even close to the same size." "No, please, just do what I ask." "Whatever," she repeated, stepping into my pants, cinching the belt to hold them up, and putting on my shirt. "Socks and shoes too?" "Yes." "Okay, now what?" "Like you said, now you're the man." "What? No, I'm not. You're being silly. I'm still a woman. Oh, you want me to pretend to be the man so we can have sex?" "No, I told you. This isn't about sex. The point is that what you wear doesn't change who you are. You're still Helen. I'm still Grace. Wearing women's clothes won't make me any more of a woman than I already am. I like feeling feminine, the same way you do, but pretty has already done what pretty needs to do. When I do get dressed, the clothes will help others to relate to me as a woman." I pretended to look around. "I don't see any others." "Neither do I." To my surprise, she moved forward, threw her arms around me and gave me a passionate kiss. "Helen, I told you, this isn't about sex." "It's like telling someone not to think of pink elephants. Once you put the idea in their head, they can't get it out. I'm the man, so it's up to me and I say its time to smooch. So pucker up, sweetie." I put my arms around her and kissed her back. She sighed. "Do you now how long it's been since we really kissed?" "Yes. I'm sorry. It's just, well, it's just that I felt guilty, because I wasn't who you thought I was. It's not that I don't, that I didn't, love you. I do, with all my heart, but that made the deception even more difficult." "Okay. All of that is in the past. Right now, I'm the one wearing the pants. So, how about you cooking dinner? Like I told you, there's no end of fun to being a woman. She swatted me on the butt as I turned to go. Oh, and gender issues aside, since pretty is in her underpants, she might want to put on one of the aprons in the third drawer next to the stove." "Yes, ma'am." I headed for the kitchen and then turned to her, "but we're not stopping the cleaning service, are we?" I made my specialty, spaghetti with marinara sauce, actually a jar of Prego doctored up with oregano, garlic, onion, tabasco sauce and a bay leaf, a salad with Italian dressing and garlic bread. I set the table, opened a bottle of red wine and called Helen. She came in carrying my nightgown and handed it to me. I took off the apron and put it on. She was in her pajamas. We enjoyed the meal, took a second glass of wine into the family room and watched TV. When the eleven o'clock news ended, we went upstairs. Since I wasn't wearing any makeup, I just did a quick scrub and got into bed. "Grace?" "Yes, I'm here." "I know you're here. I can smell the peanuts on your breath." "What?" "It's an elephant in the bedroom joke. Forget it. I have a question for you." "About sex?" "No, its not about sex, unless you want it to be about sex. Do you?" "No, I'm tired. It's been a long day. What's your question?" "What are you going to do tomorrow?" "About sex?" "You know, if you don't stop, I'm going to have sex with you, just to shut you up. No, about you?" "What about me?" "Yes, exactly. What about you? Tonight you and I stayed home. Tomorrow, what do you plan to do about Grace meets world? Are you going back to work? Don't you think you need to prepare your office first? Are we going out? You've never been out as a woman. Are you ready? The clothes may help, but there's a lot more to it. They way we walk. The way we talk. Our mannerisms. Your nails. You need a mani. Look at them." I turned my hand over and curled my fingers. "There, you see." "Yes, I need my nails done." "No, you gave yourself away." "Looking to see if I need a manicure?" "No, the way you looked. Men do what you did. Here. Women examine their nails like this." She held her hand up with her fingers spread. "We've spent our whole lives learning to sit in skirts and dresses without putting on a show, crossing our legs or our ankles, putting our pocketbook in our laps and keeping our legs together. It's second nature. We preen in front of any reflection, refresh our lipstick constantly, fuss with our hair, how about going to the bathroom? Are you familiar with ladies room etiquette?" "I hadn't really thought, I mean, it just seemed like, I don't know," I conceded. "You're right about work. I can't just show up. Maybe if we just go somewhere quiet. A movie. Probably nobody goes to the movies on Thursday. I could get used to being out as a woman. You could help me. You will, won't you. Teach me about using the bathroom and things. Please." "Of course I will, but I can't teach it to you in a day. There has to be a way to work into this. Maybe I wasn't so far off when I suggested that we go away. It would be a lot easier dealing with strangers. How about that?" "It's okay with me, but where? Do we just get in the car and drive somewhere? Here, there, does it make a difference? People aren't going to be any more tolerant. It's taken me too long come out. I won't hide in the closet or the house." "You can't be the first transgendered person to go through this. What if we call Dr. Rosen? This is her area of expertise." "Yes. Please. Let's call her tomorrow. Goodnight." "Goodnight." She poked me. "I've changed my mind." "About talking to Dr. Rosen?" "No, about sex." She started to nuzzle my neck. "Helen!" "What? I'm still wearing the pants," she giggled, something I don't remember ever hearing from her, "although not for long. So get with the program while you've still got a program to get with. With which to get? I never could get that straight. Which brings us to . . ." She slid her hand under my nightgown. "Definitely more than decorative. Do we get to keep it in a jar on the mantelpiece as a souvenir, you know, afterwards?" "They use it." "What about these? Shouldn't we give them a proper send off?" "Helen! Please, I'm not sure this is the way . . ." "It worked before. Or did you have something else in mind?" "I didn't have anything in mind." She hiked up my nightgown and pulled down my panties. "What about now?" "I, mmmm, ah, mmmm . . ahh." When I woke up, I heard Helen in the shower. I got up, found my panties under the sheet, put them in the wash basket and got a clean pair out of the dresser. I looked at the bras, but there wasn't a need, so I picked out a matching cammie instead. A fitted grey skirt, knee length, and pink blouse with a round collar completed my outfit. I took out a pair of flats and realized I didn't have on stockings. I decided on tights which I worked up and under my skirt. I slipped into my shoes and went downstairs. I started the coffee brewing and was setting the table when Helen came in. She looked at me approvingly. "Very pretty." I poured the coffee. She smiled at me. "Do you think Dr. Rosen is in her office?" she continued our conversation from last night. "I don't know. My appointments are always in the afternoon. We can leave her a message." I called her office. It connected on the third ring. "Hello? Dr. Rosen? Oh, hello. I didn't think you'd be in this early. I was going to leave a message. Oh. Uh huh. I'm fine thanks. She's fine too. No, no problem. A question. Yes, that. How did you know?" I laughed. "Uh huh. Uh huh. No, I understand. "I looked at Helen and shrugged. "You don't make life decision for your patients," I repeated. "Yes, she's here. Okay. Well, we were thinking that there might be some place where we could go to, you know, get accustomed . . . Uh huh. Really? I never heard of it. Provincetown. Where's that? Massachusetts. Uh huh. A large lesbian and gay community. TG friendly too. Sounds good. In October? Fantasy?" I motioned for Helen to get something to write on. She took a pad and pen out of a drawer and held them out to me. I shook my head and pointed to her. "Oh, not fantasy, fantasia, with an i-a, okay, fair, no e. There's a website. Dot org. "I looked at Helen. She nodded. "Okay, got it. When we see you on Wednesday. Yes, She will. Definitely." I looked at Helen to see if there was anything else. She shook her head. "Thank you." Helen pointed to herself. "Oh, Helen says thank you too." I hung up. "She says you're welcome." Helen held out the pad with the notes. "What's all this?" "Dr. Rosen said that there's a place," I looked at the pad, "Provincetown, it's a small town in Massachusetts, on Cape Cod, and that they have an annual fair in October for trans men and women." "A fair? You mean like a carnival, with games and rides?" "No, it didn't sound like that. More serious, like the kind of fair where you go to meet people for a purpose, you know, like a job fair, that kind. They have a website. We can check it out." "It's in October?" "Yes." "That's more than a month from now. Do you want to wait that long?" She gave me a questioning look. "Can you wait that long?" "Do I want to? No. Can I? From what you said last night, I don't have much of a choice, if I want to do this right, and I do." "Well, I'm not the best resource for making that decision. What did Dr. Rosen think about it?" "She made it clear that it was up to us." "Us?" "She said that you and I should talk it over." I looked at her. "So, what do you think?" "Just because there's a fair in October doesn't mean that we can't go now. Why don't we check out the website and decide." She thought for a moment. "Or both. We can go now and, if we like it, we can go back for the fair. Come on." We went into the study. I turned on the computer. After it booted up, I entered the address. A pinkish purple screen came up with a 'Fantasia Fair 'logo and a description of it as 'a week-long celebration of gender diversity and the longest-running annual conference in the transgender world.' The logo turned into a slide show of different activities and events. Clicking on the logo opened up the home page. I was impressed. I looked over at Helen studying the screen. So was she. We clicked through the various links. There were workshops, discussions, speakers, special sessions for couples and an explanation of local bathroom etiquette too. We explored the site for over an hour. When we finished, we had a new designation for Helen. She was an s-o, short for significant other. "What do you think?" "Both." "The fair sounds like a good place to start, if you want to wait until October. There are plenty of things for you to do here until then. Provincetown seems like a good place to start, if you don't." "Like what?" "Like what what?" "Like what can I do here?" "Well, for one thing, you don't have enough clothes for a week, especially for what looks like dressy dinners, there's a banquet, or even underwear for that matter, or shoes. That won't take a month, but it still takes time to find the right outfits." She looked me over. "You need some work on your face," she put her hand on my chin and turned it from side to side, "maybe electrolysis to get rid of some of the hair. We need to thin your eyebrows too. "She ran her hand over my cheek, "and makeup. Mine's too light. Maybe another wig, if you want to change your hair style." She stepped back. "And something about that," looking at my chest. "I'm assuming not surgery, so maybe breast forms? I'd say at least two to three weeks anyway before you're ready." "So I should wait." "Oh no. Don't put your monkey on my back. What I said was that there are things to do, if," she emphasized if, "you," she emphasized you, "want to wait. I'm with Dr. Rosen on this one. Whether you do is up to you." "I think it would be easier to start my transition there. I've postponed it this long. Another month isn't going to make a difference." I suddenly realized that I was being selfish. "I never asked you if this was something you wanted to do. I can go by myself. I'd understand." "You don't think much of our marriage vows. For richer or poorer, better or worse, high heels or flats, with or without testicles. I'm your significant other. Of course I'm going with you. Go get a credit card, so we can register. I get a discount too. We s-o's are a bargain." We logged back in, filled out the registration form, decided on the workshops and events we wanted and selected our daily lunch venues, a choice between the nautically named Bayside Betsy's and Crown and Anchor. We got our confirmation, which left transportation to Provincetown and where to stay when we got there. We decided to fly into Boston. I had plenty of frequent flyer miles for both of us. We'd rent a car and drive to Cape Cod. "There's a list of hotels and guest houses. I can handle the reservations. Why don't you change the sheets on our bed and do the laundry? You should throw in your nightgown and my pajamas too. Somehow they got messy." She gave me a silly grin. "I don't know how to use the washing machine." "Oh for goodness sake, really? You can run a computer program to do a tax return for a mega-corporation, but you can't operate a washer?" "Is the washer computerized?" "No." "Then no." She got up and started messing with my wig. "What are you doing?" "Checking for how much, blonde there is. You're a ditz." "Laundry was not in my job description until recently." She gave me a patronizing look. "Here, I'll draw you a diagram." She picked up a pen, turned over an envelope and drew a large and small circle. "You see, there is one dial," pointing to the large circle, "and one button," pointing to the little circle. "It will be struggle, but I am sure you can master it. Set the dial to sheets and push the button. It says 'start.' You are now an expert on doing laundry. When it's finished, it will stop and beep. Come back and I will give you a tutorial on the dryer. Oh, sorry. Open the lid, put in the sheets, nightgown and pajamas, add one half capful of the liquid detergent, it's next to the washer in the big red bottle, and close the lid. Now shoo." Twenty minutes later, I returned to the study. Helen was on the phone. I could hear music, so she was on hold. She turned to me. "This Fantasia Fair is one big deal in Provincetown. Most of the places on the list had no vacancy. I spoke to the chamber of commerce and the woman directed me to a friend of hers who runs the Sage Inn. They had a cancellation. She's running our credit card for the deposit. I checked it out on line. The rooms look really nice and its right in town, so we can walk to everything. Now all we need are the plane and rental car reservations. I can do those while you put the sheets in the dryer. Open the door, put them in, there are dryer sheets in a box, throw one in, close the door and push the button. It says 'start.' Do you want me to draw you another diagram?" I shook my head. "Shoo." The timer on the washer showed another twenty-three minutes. While I was waiting, I walked by the study. Helen was still on the phone. I stuck my head in and she waved me away. I went in the kitchen for another cup of coffee. Finally she came in. I poured her a cup. She sat down and looked at her notes. "Okay, we have reservations on Jet Blue for a nonstop to Boston. Check in for the fair is between one and five on Sunday. We're on a red eye which gets us in about eight thirty. I looked up the travel directions and it's a good drive, a little over two hours. Once you get outside of Boston, it's all highway. We're going to have checked bags, so by the time we get them, pick up the car, I got us a mid-size from Enterprise, get out of the city and get on the highway, we should be there around one or two o'clock. I couldn't tell if there is any place to stop for lunch on the way. Otherwise, we can get something after we register." "You left out something." "I don't think so." "Me." "You?" "Yes, it's my trip. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but shouldn't I be involved?" "There's lots for us to do still." "Us, not me." "Okay, you. I have to go to the grocery store, pick up the cleaning and stop at CVS. Why don't you," she emphasized you, "go clothes shopping and buy some makeup." "You're kidding right? We just decided I would wait until the fair." "Didn't you just say you wanted to be more involved?" "Yes, but involved in getting ready, not involved with myself." "Aren't you the one getting ready?" "Yes." "Then go shopping on your own. You have to start sometime. What's the worst that can happen? You'd be embarrassed. So what? You can't make an omelette without spilling the beans. I just made up that metaphor. Is it a metaphor? Saying? Whatever, but it's true if you're transgendered. You are going to run into lots of people who are inconsiderate, rude, obnoxious, insulting, hurtful, demeaning, pick an uncomplimentary adjective, when they find out. There's nothing you can do to avoid it, so screw them. We'll, metaphorically anyway." "I hadn't thought about it that way. You're right. I'll go." I hesitated. "Um, where am I going?" "It depends on what you want to buy." I looked at her blankly. "Why don't you start by browsing at Kohls. We've been there and it's an easy store to shop. You're at the fair for a week. We arrive on Sunday and leave on Sunday. You know the schedule. Casual clothes during the day. I'm probably going to wear jeans, a sweater and boots or flats. It looks like we'll be doing a lot of walking. Something a little dressier for night, if we go out to a nice restaurant or for drinks. I'll bring a couple of skirts and tops, dresses and heels for the dinners. Sweaters and a jacket, if it's cold. If you do want pants, you can probably take them into the men's fitting room, like when I took you shopping. They're similar enough that nobody is going to notice. Tops too. Helen took my arm. She moved in close and whispered in my ear, "I'll tell you a sisterly secret." She turned her head, pretending to be on the lookout for eavesdroppers. Unlikely in our kitchen. "We don't wear skirts and dresses because we like them. We wear them because we think we look good in them. Annie, you know Annie right, Larry's wife," I nodded, "she wears pants. I can't remember seeing her in a skirt or dress. Even for formal events, she wears dressy silk pants. Betsy, down the street, she's the opposite. She dresses to make a statement. Probably I'm a slut." She made a cat sound."Most of what she wears is so tight fitting, low cut or short that I can't imagine how she manages to avoid a wardrobe malfunction. Every woman has her signature look, good, bad or indifferent. "I figure it will be about two hours for me to finish my errands. I have to stop home with the groceries. Then I was going to make a two o'clock appointment at Fancy Nails for a mani-pedi. If Amy can take me, I should be home by two or three." She held up her hand. "What do you think?" Should I go with the same boring French tips or something exotic." She wiggled her fingers. "Bright red? Plum?" I shrugged. "Big help. In the meantime, if you finish at Kohls, you can go to the mall. Walk through the department stores, try telling one of the saleswomen that you're transgendered and see how helpful she is. Like you said when you used to shop by pretending to be buying for your mother, a sale is a sale. And there's Sephora. The women I know buy their cosmetics at the boutiques, so I doubt you will run into anyone. You can ask for a concealer foundation. I'm willing to bet they will be more than happy to do a consultation. We got in our cars and went our separate ways. I was nervous. This would be the first time that I was shopping for myself without some pretense or Helen as camouflage. I parked and went in. Helen had said I'd need casual clothes and that she was wearing jeans, so I went to the denim section. There was an overwhelming selection of skirts, dresses, shirts, jackets and pants. One display had what the label said were skinny leg jeans with a soft, flower pattern. The mannikin showed them paired with a long cowl necked top. I liked the look, but wondered if I wanted pants, after wearing them all of my life. These were different. They were a stretchy material. Helen had talked about managing a skirt or dress, so maybe a pair of pants wouldn't be a bad way to practice without embarrassment. I picked up a pair, but couldn't figure out the size. Where was she when I needed her? They didn't go by waist measurement. The pair I was holding was an eight. Helen had held the clothes up to me to check the size. I figured what the heck. I put the pants against my waist, except that the crotch was above mine. I lowered them so that they were at my hips. They looked like they would fit. I took them and a ten. I looked around and found the top that was displayed. Unlike the pants, it came in small, medium, large and extra large. I was definitely not a small or medium. I took the large and extra large and went into the men's dressing room. Over the course of the next hour, I slowly learned the intricacies of women's sizes. I ended up with a pair of the flowered jeans, the top, a long denim skirt with a zipper which let you adjust the front opening, a long sleeved turtleneck to go with it and a jean jacket that I could wear with both. I thought that was enough for the first day and took my purchases to the check out counter. The woman gave me a smile. I smiled back. She took my credit card, offered me some type of discount coupons for future purchases and put the clothes in a bag. I thanked her and left. Encouraged by my experience at Kohls, I decided to try the mall. I skipped the department store. I had already shopped for clothes and I wasn't ready to have a conversation with a saleswoman about my being transgendered. I checked the directory. Sephora was at the other end of the mall. I was overwhelmed by the size of the store. They must sell every cosmetic made. As I stood in the doorway, a young woman in a black smock came over. "Hi, I'm Emily. May I help you?" Okay, Grace, I thought, here you go. "Yes, please. I need a concealer foundation," repeating what Helen had described. She turned and I followed her. "It's for me," I admitted to her back. If it made any impression, she didn't show it. She stopped in front of a counter and picked up a jar. "This will give you good coverage. I could never understand it, but beards have a green tint and a foundation with an orangy tint hides it." You'd think she sold makeup to men every day. Maybe she did. "The best way to put it on is with a sponge." She picked up a small round white applicator and dipped it into the jar. "May I?" I looked around. As far as I could tell, everyone was minding their own business. She waited patiently. "Sure." "Dab, don't smear," she recommended. "It gives you better coverage." She applied it to my right cheek. Once you get the look you want, blend it lightly with your fingers. She reached over and stroked my cheek. "See." She picked up a mirror and handed it to me. I cautiously looked at my reflection. It did look good. I assumed she was waiting for confirmation. "It looks good. Thank you." "You're welcome. You know, the foundation will go on and stay on better, if you use a moisturizer first." She got up and came back with a bottle. She held it out. This is really good for hydration. I use it. You could also use a finishing powder to give a nice matte look. We have one that comes in a compact with a mirror. It's on sale too. She looked at me expectantly. She had spent so much time with me, I felt obligated, not that I didn't want a nice matte look. And it was on sale. I agreed. Blush and an applicator brush were also a necessity. She definitely was a good sales person. "Did you just get your ears pierced?" I reflexively put my hands up to my ears and felt the studs. I had forgotten to take them out. Apparently you don't need a blonde wig to be a ditz. No wonder I got a smile from the cashier at Kohls. Then again, maybe it was an easy way to let people know I'm transgendered. That would also explain why it didn't come as any surprise to Emily that the foundation was for me. Grace is out buying herself clothes and cosmetics. Good for her. "Yes, I just had it done this week." "Be careful taking your makeup off," she continued, as if chatting with a peer. "This foundation is stubborn and makes a mess of your washcloth and towel. I recommend using these makeup removing towelletes." She popped one out of a case and handed it to me. I rubbed it over my cheek. It was covered with makeup. I threw it in the trash basket and she handed me another. It took four before it was off. "We sell them, but, honestly, you need to use a lot and can get the same thing at the drug store. Our eye makeup remover is really good though and what about your other makeup," she segued in, "would you like me to show you?" "Yes, thank you." "Come with me." She brought me to a station at the back of