Long forgotten memories resurfaced when I read Kit's last chapter "Fake I Till You Make It" Her heroine was left with nothing to wear except a sexy German costume after she went swimming in the Rhine. Sometimes Murphy has a wicked sense of humor. Or is it Karma has a wicked sense of humor? Oh well, I guarantee this is the way it happened.

Sharon, age round twenty six, was a transportation supervisor for a large freighting company. She was friends with my parents and spent a lot of time there. I knew her well. Carolyn, my wife, and I had our own business, I held contractor’s licenses in the professional trades along with a general contractor’s license in the building trades. All of the above congealed to bring about the situation I’m about to explain. I had dropped in to my parent’s house and as normal Sharon was there.

She looked at me as I walked into the house. “You too busy to take on another job?”

“What kind of job? We are running two to three weeks behind on calls now.” I was skittish when anyone said this will only take a couple minutes. Those kinds of jobs usually ended up taking hours, possibly days.

“I need the Rock Island Depot closed up.”

I was thinking it over. Truthfully we were behind on our work already. For Sharon, if it was actually a simple project I could give it my attention. “Windows, doors, boarded up screwed shut or more serious security?"

She nodded in agreement. “As long as they can't used a crowbar, yank the nails out, and get inside I will agree to that.”

“Security screws, unless they have the right tools they aren’t removing them. They won’t get the boards off with anything less. I'll let you know what I'm using so your help will be able to remove them when they want.” It would turn out to be a simple quick job if this was all she wanted.

“Okay, bring an invoice by before you start. We have an agreement. I still need to turn it in first.”

I headed out to write up an invoice for her. Yes, it was a simple job. I knew the building she wanted boarded up. All I needed to do was count windows and doors. This was a straight up job. The next day I swung by the building, counted windows and doors, measured sizes. The job was too simple and if I didn’t know her I wouldn’t be doing it as it wasn’t going to pay me to do it. But…, is was for someone we all knew.

Her office was thirty four miles from home. I filled out the invoice the next day and decided to run it over to her as I was going to squeeze this work in-between other jobs. Sharon and another lady were in her office when I walked in. I handed her the invoice, it was less than two hundred dollars.

She looked at it and nodded. “I don’t need authorization to okay this. I'll see you at your parent's house or you can call me when you finish. I'll bring a check by.”

Sharon was giving me a look. “One of the guys said they are going fishing in this pond they were told about. I want to go with them. Trade clothes with me."

It really didn’t shock me and I was truly intrigued. Yet all the negative implications of doing something like that were beyond contemplating. She was wearing a very nice business dress, I’m not sure her flats would fit me even if I do have small feet. Let’s insert the downside to that here. I'm married, I love my wife dearly, and she barely tolerates the female side of me. There was no doubt, not a drop of doubt, me walking into the house wearing another woman’s dress would not go well.

“Sharon, I appreciate you thinking I could wear your dress. I’m wearing the same pants I left home in when I return home."

Sharon and her friend had smiles a mile wide. “No one would know. You have the manners down already.”

“What?”

It was her friend who answered. “You’re standing there with you hands on your hips. Your head is slightly tilted to the side and you have a small pout to your lips. It's pure girl, I don’t wanna look."

“Fine, still ain’t happening.” No matter how much they pleaded it wasn’t happening because death would await me if I did. Sharon could go fishing in her nice dress as I knew there wasn’t anyone else her size. I was tempted but…, the downside would be a killer and that isn’t far from the truth.

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Momma and her two sisters grew up in the depression and the Dust Bowl days. The three girls survived by sheer strength and wit which forged their lives to the end. Loraine, the oldest, was the most refined. She had married well, moved to DC and lost her husband leaving her to raise a son on her own. She was very capable as a Dust Bowl Survivor. I loved my aunt Loraine.

Gwen, the middle daughter, had a totally different attitude toward life. She married, moved to Chicago, had a son and then a daughter. The family moved to California where the marriage fell apart. I loved Gwen but she had the manners of a bar room trollop and the vocabulary of a sailor on port of call. She took no prisoners and never minced words. Her vocabulary didn’t have a filter. She was a Dust Bowl Survivor in every respect. I loved my aunt Gwen.

After the divorce, Gwen would come and visit us every couple years. At the time of this story I had married and was coping with the damn girl inside me as best I could while still pacifying my wife, Carolyn, who wasn’t thrilled nor could she understand why.

I had purchased a Jersey knit material which was brown and white. Think of a Holstein cow, only instead of black and white this was brown and white. This was one of the most beautiful patterns I had ever seen. Purchasing a blouse pattern I proceeded to turn it into a blouse. The blouse had long sleeves and a boat neckline. At that time I didn’t have breasts to give it shape, it was still a beautiful blouse.

Aunt Gwen was visiting mom and daddy and I wore it when Carolyn and I dropped in. Gwen immediately admired my blouse. “That's really pretty, where did you buy it?'

“I made it." Of course my head swelled two sizes while I grinned like an idiot.

“May I borrow it? She was studying me like a hawk had spotted a field mouse.

Keep in mind she was one of my favorite aunts. “Sure.”

She was wearing a button up blouse. She immediately took it off and handed it to me.

Aunt Gwen was well endowed and I was doing my best to not stare as I pulled my blouse off and handed it to her. Keep in mind this is Jersey Knit and has oodles of stretch. I slipped her blouse on as she pulled mine on.. It looked a heck of a lot better on her than it did on me and she gave it the best shape no doubt. I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Everyone in the family commented how pretty she was.

That wasn’t the last time I saw my blouse but it went home with her when she left. I guess she really did like it. I didn't have enough material left to make another blouse although I did make myself more clothes including a skirt and jacket out of a metallic blue material I really liked.

Life has some really strange interesting bumps in it along the way from beginning to end. For those of us who are transgender, I wonder if some of those bumps weren’t intentional pushes?