Our local cross-dresser has a new look for summer. Gone is the 1950s-housewife-Norman Bates' mother's wig, pastel cardigan, floral housedress, opaque tights, wool cap, and sensible shoes. This season's look is more Valley of the Dolls, or in his case, Valley of the Balls.
I saw him yesterday working at one of the many charity shops that make up our village. There are coach trips to our village just to visit the charity shops. So you know he must be getting ready for the summer flush of tourists looking for a bargain. And he is a living example of that in his long, nylon, blonde wig, blue babydoll dress, electric blue eyeshadow, and big, fat, gold wedding ring. I mentioned in an earlier post that he put an advert in the post office looking for a wife. Guess he found one.
But here's what I don't understand. He's not one of God's better-looking creatures, even as a man. He has a prominent nose, hairy arms, and legs, and beer belly, though his hands look rather soft. You'd think if he wanted to dress like a woman, well, he would try a bit more to actually look like a woman, rather than an ugly man in ugly women's clothing.
I do admire his chutzpah because he is The Only Cross-Dresser in the Village. And he gives us something more to talk about than just the weather and what footballer was spotted in the local supermarket. Our lives would be in danger of terminal blandness were it not for Amber (not his real name, but then the name he goes by is not his real name either). Still, it isn't too much of a stretch of the imagination to picture him in a slasher film. Think the dwarf in "Don't Look Now" only several feet taller.
I just wonder what compels him to dress this way.