Halloween and Femininity
It seemed like a good idea at the time. I was a young boy, not completely sure of myself, but just ballsy enough to say, “Indeed, I do want to be a woman for Halloween.” My mom–obviously not afraid her son (the same son who played kiss chase in kindergarten and asked his second grade teacher to marry him) might actually want to be a woman–was overjoyed. She had run out of baby-making ingredients and never popped out a girl. So, for once, she would get to do some hair, put on some make up, and pick out a dress. It was quite a moment for mother and son. The shade of lipstick was just my color.
How was I to know that I would make such a convincing lady? When I looked in the mirror, I saw an ugly girl looking back at me (how was I to know that I would see so many of those reflections during my first college years?). I looked like a woman and I made the decision there and then…there would be no trick-or-treating. I would cry like the woman I was and do without the reeces cups and box-o-dots (man, I loved the dots).
My father, though, is a man. Mix Bruce Willis and James Coburn and you’ve got Papa John. And so while I was stumbling about on my heels, trying to figure out how girls wear stockings without their testicles itching, and watching my finely-tuned make-up run down my little face…my father donned a dress, a wig, a finer make-up job…and he dragged my ass out the door. Two women on the town, asking for candy from complete strangers, and shaking their hind-ends like ladies of the evening.
I think this probably set the stage for later days.
There are far too many pictures of me (most from college) wearing wigs, lipstick, garter belts and the like. At one point I started wearing my hair long. Very long. It was a dark period in my life and I don’t like to discuss it. But for the purposes of this story, its necessary.
I looked horrible. The pictures prove that. Plus, I was eating a lot of Taco Bell and drinking a lot of beer in those days and weighed about 20 pounds more than I do now. I looked like hell.
Few people ever discouraged me, though, so my hair kept growing. It reached my shoulders and probably would’ve reached my waist. And then it came time for a BBQ.
I was at the butcher looking for a good piece of meat. I must have been hypnotized by the bratwurst, because the butcher couldn’t get my attention. Finally, he said in a much too loud voice, “Ma’am! Can I help you with anything?”
My hair came off shortly after that.
Depsite my clearly heterosexual status, I am half woman.
Ask anybody. I’m sensitive, have a love for sweet smells, and my nipples are poofy.
Maybe I can blame Dad for this.
