The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1470 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The next day was Sunday, so apart from the Observer, it felt much like any other day. Actually, that’s not true–I was tired. I’d spent hours trying to analyse why I feel this self doubt and I’ve come to the conclusion it’s just part of me, like green eyes and at present, red hair.

If it weren’t Sunday, I might have been able to speak with Dr Thomas–oh she’s marrying Mr O’Rourke–did I tell you? Ah, now then was it this weekend they getting spliced or next–either way she’s got better things to do than listen to the ramblings of a loony like me.

So, did the next best thing, I spoke to Siân, who’s a doctor and has known me a long time. The fact that she’s gay adds another dimension–I don’t quite understand her and she doesn’t me–apart from that–you get the idea anyway.

The girls were out in the garden with Si and Tom, and Danny was showing them how to pick apples and tomatoes or dig potatoes or something–I wasn’t really too worried as long as they were safe and out of my hair for five minutes.

“He did what?” asked Siân.

“He wound me up and it pushed all my buttons. I know he loves me but he also likes to tease me at times. I don’t know why I have this sensitivity about my past–seeing as it’s no special secret.”

“I can–it’s something which hasn’t been integrated yet because it’s incongruent with your current life. You are so female, it’s untrue.”

“Yeah, I know that, that’s why I have problems.”

“No you dummy, I meant it as a comparison–hardly any woman I know is as womanly as you.”

“Oh, do you know that many, then?”

“Cathy, I know hundreds and most of them are gay.”

“Is that what I am really, a gay man trying to hide by changing my body?”

“This is England not Iran, besides, no you’re not a man of any description, you were hardly a boy. Did you know that Elsa George thought you were a tomboy?”

“Why would she think that?”

“Because you mostly wore male things, but she reckoned you were a girl pretending to be a boy.”

“Was she the plump one with the spiky blonde hair?”

“No that was Caroline.”

“Which one was she then?”

“Very tall, long dark hair, strikingly beautiful.”

“The one with the denim mini-dress, I always fancied.”

“The dress or the wearer?”

“The dress–what d’ya think I am?”

“I suppose you’d have wanted the over knee boots as well?”

“Natch.”

“So you are a fetishist then?”

“Can women be fetishists?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“I thought it was a boy thing almost exclusively, sexual fixation on an inappropriate item.”

“It’s predominantly a male phenomenon, yes.”

“So you’re suggesting I’m male?”

“No I am not, Cathy, so stop twisting my words. If Elsa George thought you were female, you must have presented as such. I mean I always treated you as a girlfriend and my mum knew I was safe with you.”

“Safe? What d’you mean safe?”

“She knew you were a very girly boy, and she also knew my predilections.”

“She knew you were gay?”

“Well, when I only wanted a Barbie and Barbie relationship, not Ken, she knew something was up.”

“She knew from your playing with dolls that you were gay? What were you doing with them?”

“You don’t want to know, but think French and add one to twice thirty four.”

Maths was never my strong point but I can add and subtract. I can’t multiply–I don’t have any gonads. I suddenly got the picture of two sixes and turned one upside down.

“You were doing that with Barbie dolls–the cunnilingus stuff.” I was blushing, partly because it sounded like the Latin name for rabbits–the furry thing not the battery operated one.

“Ooh, now who’s flaunting her grammar school education?”

“Eh?”

“The cunny word.”

“I thought that’s what it was called?”

“It is, cunnos the Latin for vulva and lingo–to lick.”

“Now who’s showing off their education?”

“I’m a doctor, remember–these things get lodged in your brain. It’s just that you hardly ever hear anyone bar the odd lesbian use it.”

“I hope you mean the word?”

“Very funny–but then you seem to think you’re a gay man–and most of the ones I know are hilarious, so that would fit.”

“Thanks Siân, I really needed another kick in the self-esteem.”

“I’m only joking–for goodness sake, Cathy, get a life and stop moping about an accident of birth.”

“An accident of birth?”

“Yeah, like you told me, you were a girl with a plumbing problem–you got the wrong genitalia. It doesn’t matter because you got it sorted, so stop feeling sorry for yourself and start living. You can’t undo the past, anymore than you can live in the future, but you can plan for the latter by living in the now.”

“You’ve been reading too many Reader’s Digest articles.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Try listening to yourself someday.”

“Damn, I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“Well I did.”

“Okay, Miss clever clogs, put this in your pipe and smoke it. You’re a woman now and you’re stuck with it–so stop messing about with these bouts of self-indulgence and get on with things.”

“Self-indulgence? You cheeky mare.”

“Yes–that’s what it is, you need to move on, forget the past unless it has some useful quality in dealing with the present.”

“I like history,” I said indignantly.

“Fine–why did you bother calling me then?”

“Okay, point taken. How’s Kirsty?”

“She’s fine, thank you.”

“Good–I’d better get on and sort out the children.”

“See, spoken like a real man.”

“Was it?” I felt myself blush.

“No it wasn’t–Cathy, you never were a man. You’re a woman, so stop questioning the obvious and get on with your life. Kirsty’s just come back–gotta go. Byee.”

I put the phone down–I’d wasted a half a morning plus lost sleep over things. I’d go and see Dr Smith one day next week and see what he had to suggest. Yeah, get an impartial opinion and he’d tell me what he thought, not what I wanted to hear unlike some doctors.

I started getting the lunch–then paused. I walked out to the garden. “D’you still want to go out for lunch?” I asked Simon.

He looked at his watch–“We’d have to go to the hotel, too late to find anywhere else.”

“Okay, I’m going to shower–are we taking the kids?”

“We have a choice?” he asked.

“Not really–girls, inside and change into something–better still, in the shower please. Danny, you’ll need a shower as well.”

“Do I have to come?” He was digging potatoes.

“What will you have for lunch otherwise?”

“Och we’ll rustle up somethin’, dinnae ye worry.” Tom and he smiled at each other.

“I’ll stay with Gramps,” he said smiling at Tom.

“Okay, anyone else staying?”

“We’ll stay with Gramps too.” This was the opinion of all of them but Si and the two babies, which Stella and Jenny agreed to supervise and feed. It was just the two of us–the buggers did it deliberately, didn’t they–I’ll bet Si put them all up to it. I hope it cost him a fortune. However, I didn’t dwell on it–I went to get all neat and tidy and as girly as possible but in a sophisticated way–natch.