Sometimes, A girl just needs attention....

We were talking today about my inability lately to feel very "Barbara". Not incidentally, I was expressing a lot of misogynistic thoughts, from a rant on a comment someone made about "the good ole boys network (where do I Join?), to the very late letter carrier who is no mailman in any sense of the word. (it was raining today and apparently through rain and sleet does not apply to contract mail carriers - what did you think I was going to say???)

Anyway, Dee said she appreciated how much more in touch I am emotionally as Barbara, but pointed out she's not going to hand me something silky to improve my mood. I told her she's welcome to point out when I am less in touch with my softer side. She hands me a nighty and says, get a good shave tonight, I want to play around with some make-up.

Once the infant was asleep (for the third time and hopefully for the night) she remarked at how easily I become Barbara when Dee expresses interest. That makes some sense. A week or so ago she offered to take the kids off my hands entirely for the evening and suggested I could have some privacy. Interestingly, I wasn't that into the idea. I chalked it up at the time to not being very en femme that whole week. I realize now that Barbara craves acceptance still and doing it alone just isn't fun. Kind of a good thing because en homme I am very much a loner. I should really have lived in another century in a hermitage.

The first picture taken as I went into the closet to retrieve my wig may have been the best. I think I look a little like a Shakespearian actor backstage. I hesitated posting it, but I liked it. One of the best ones was 1/2 out of frame, but it looked so much like one of those cropped avatars to protect ones privacy that I decided to use it for a while. I took a few self portraits with no flash and though her camera for some dumb reason blurs pictures without flash 2 out of 3 times I got a couple of decent ones. We decided my makeup is too light a shade or my tan too dark. We used the red lipstick dot method this time and sans flash looks passable at smoky restaurant levels. Unfortunately our city passed a smoking ban some time ago.

Thoughts en femme.

I have been putting off dressing for a while because now that I have dressed in full, under-dressing (the wearing of feminine items under male clothes) just doesn't have much appeal. I find myself reaching for the old and familiar male all cotton underthings.

I was remarking to Dee that although I have been blogging up a storm since none of it seems to pertain to crossdressing it seemed a little odd to maintain the blog as it is. Dee has a for public consumption blog and a wife of a crossdresser blog. It almost would make sense for me to have a second blog for non-cd related thoughts and experiences.

I was trying to think back to the last time I had dressed really and realized that really every day I do in small ways. I'll put on a pair of knee-highs if I think I might be out near a shoe store (whtether I end up going or not. I wear my girl jeans regularly. I attend to various grooming issues related to maintaining the ability to cross over if I have the chance such as Veet and sunscreen on my farmer's tan. I have had my nails done for the last three weeks, currently in a translucent pink but in the sun or bright lights it does have little sparklies.

While musing about this, Dee points out that the polo I am wearing is in fact hers. If not for subtle differences in cut and the buttons the "wrong" way it isn't noticeable.

One of my favorite things with the blog is to look at the site meter statistics. Its fun to see where visitors come from, how long they stay, how they got here.

My favorite lately was a vistor from The Netherlands. Specifically, Gelderland. Could it be Sir Ullric? ~sings~ He's drunk, he's pissed, he'll see you in the mist.......Gelderland, Gelderland, Gelderland....

My Rave on Balsamic Vinager.

Oh my....

How, as as a boy who grew up helping Mom get dinner on the table for 9, cooked more than he dated in early adulthood, and cooks more often than his wife, had I never tried this elixir of the Gods???

Too cheap mostly. I had heard of, and about it. I had experimented with cheap vinegar, like different ones for different things. I like Malt as something to drizzle over things English style. I like red wine for salads, and usually cook or clean with plain white.

My 12 year-old daughter who has kind of been in a delightful daddy's girl mode for a while appreciating cars and cooking shows with me, has been asking that I make her a vinaigrette again. I haven't been because I cant replicate the man-made light dressings with out using oil cause I don't have a chemical factory.

We were shopping, I was out of red wine vinegar so I got some and a nice looking bottle caught my eye. I had a wrong idea about Balsamic as being some kind of flavor infused product. I read the ingredients and realized it is just good wine gone bad on purpose. I should interject here that I don't do alcohol even in cooking, (which is challenging) but obviously no alcohol in vinegar,which is why its call vinegar and not sour wine!

Anyway, I was putzing about in the kitchen, and the bottle caught my eye again. (my plan was to use it up, if I didn't like it I would re-use the bottle with plain cheap red wine vinegar..(I know HERESY!, slaps self)

I was curious, opened it tried some straight-up. Oh my. I grabbed a piece of French bread that was left-over from dinner I had toasted with a drizzle of olive oil and herbs for dinner. Scrumptious. I had three more slices! I had some Rotini that I had planned for a pasta salad. fixed a bowl with a drizzle of Olive oil and Balsamic, and Greek seasoning. Yummy. I decided I was getting carried away with Carbs for 2 in the morning. I had a little iceberg lettuce.

I woke up wanting to put some on my breakfast cereal. I resisted. I did however make:

1 Package Rotini Pasta(less one bowl) cooked, drained, chilled.
1/2 Sweet Red Bell Pepper diced fine.
1/2 Green Bell Pepper diced fine.
6 Green Onions, sliced fine/
Handful of Cilantro (Coriander Leaves), minced.
Balsamic Vinegar, generous splash.
Olive Oil, healthy drizzle.
Cracked Black Pepper, Seasoned Salt, to taste.
If I'd had them I would consider:
Black Olives, sliced
Pepperoncini's, sliced.
Dry Salami, chopped fine.
Feta Cheese, crumbled. (Maybe Roquefort?)
Cherry Tomatoes, halved.
Very Sweet Vidalia Onion, shaved thin.

The really remarkable thing is that I am just scratching the surface of the taste possibilities I am sure. This was a moderately priced Balsamic from Modena Italy and not even the most expensive that Walmart carries. I mean if Walmart stocks this, its not exactly the stuff gourmands and gluttons dream of now is it? It does say it is aged but is a bit vague about for how long. (A week? A month? A year? Several?) It has a 6 and 6 stars on the label. I postulated that it might be the number of years? Dee guessed acidity, which as it happens is 6%. Either way it is delicioso.

The tradition of the post-coital snack

Over the years I have enjoyed getting into my right brain and into the kitchen, well, after. I have had some of my most creative ideas when I still have those endorphins coursing through the synapses. The way it works, if sleepy potion doesn't get me first, is I look at available apparently unrelated ingredients in the fridge and pantry and free-associate.

One of my best was my Chorizo salad. I had ground beef which isn't even in traditional Chorizo.

There are certain ingredients that I keep on hand always usually with a back-up bottle. One of those is a Thai chili-garlic sauce called Siracha. I was aiming towards what the kids call egg and hamburger. It is a simple dish of browned beef (tradition would be pork) that you add Siracha and soy sauce then an egg or two at the end. Asians that make something similar add sugar, bean thread noodles and the egg is kind of a binder added at the end but not cooked through the way I do.

So Chorizo Salad started because I started the meat for an egg and hamburger that I was going to do something mildly creative like say egg and hamburger tostadas, or egg and hamburger and cream cheese pinwheels or, well ,you get the idea, I was just leaving the station with a direction but not yet a destination. As I started the hamburger, then rummaged around for the Siracha and found it out, and no back-up bottle. I started by adding:

chili powder,
cumin
garlic powder to the browning
ground beef and found I had
cilantro. (coriander leaves - fresh, minced.)I added that and the taste leaned Chorizo but not quite the right bite, not sour enough. As I finished it off, I deglazed with
plain white vinegar and voila! I had Chorizo (sort of). I was thinking burrito, but the tortillas were a bit stale for rolling so I had a synaptic flash and decided to cut them into 2 inch strips and then into slivers which I then fried, and salted with a basic season salt. The fridge yielded up some:
bib lettuce. torn
cucumber diced, found some more fresh
cilantro minced fine
red Bermuda onion, sliced paper thin. I plated it up as a house style salad on a dinner plate and then sprinkled on the still warm Chorizo, the tortilla crisps, and drizzled over the top Kraft brand Light Done Right
Cucumber Ranch Dressing

When I was young and very thin and considered by some effeminate looking I would get so mad when people would make comments about me looking anorexic. I thought at the time (wrongly) that anorexia was a diet gone awry and that girls (the most commonly seen sufferer) who had it kind of chose to starve themselves to be thinner. I didn't want to be thinner and would at times eat quite a bit and cared not at all about the calorie count of things. As an aside in therapy years later when I had finally at least gotten up to the weight of a slender man, I realized that the disorder (at least for me) is about not caring enough to feed oneself consistently. I realized that I am more likely to cook and eat well if I have someone to cook for. To this day I find that I tend to not worry about presentation if I am cooking for myself because I can see in my minds eye how it should be plated and well, I am just going to eat it. This is wrong thinking because food should please all the senses including the eye.

Dee and I have different requirements for dieting. She does best if she keeps her fat content low or non-existent, I do best on a modified Atkins style low carbohydrate diet. It seems not to matter to me when I eat as long as the cumulative count is right, she does better if she eats early and fasts through the snacking hours. As a result we have held off on the post-coital snack tradition, and if I do go downstairs for a snack, I cant bring myself to put a lot of effort and I don't usually snack wisely either.

Tonight after a particularly mutually satisfying time together, I mentioned that I missed making us our little snacks. Since it was already 2:00am, Dee agreed to 'start' her day then with a weigh-in and if she liked the results we'd snack on something healthy. She was so pleased stepping on the scale to find a new low for her as her 25th lb had gone.

Getting to work, I sliced some day-old crusty

French bread, spraying both sides with butter-flavored Pam and topped with:
Tomatoes, sliced thin and sprinkled with
Greek Seasoning.
Mozzarella, (fake fat-free, but not bad)

I placed on a fairly high rack in the toaster oven and toasted till top was just starting to brown and the bottom crispy.

Poured a saucer of

Balsamic Vinegar (My new favorite thing)

for dipping.

Served with "dove for" fruit truly ripe peach, nectarine, plum. grapes and a pear.

I dipped my pear in the Balsamic also, heavenly.

My storied history with cars.

Unrelated to crossdressing, but this Blog has become a dumping ground for things that sorely need an edit, but that I worked to hard typing to delete.

My 12 year old daughter..who is becoming a bit of a gear head (with a bias towards anything red with a wing on the back) once asked...

How many cars I have had. I came up with I think 23? the truly sad part is that I have a piece or two from quite a few.

In order (I think)

1974 Chevy Light Utility Vehicle. (LUV) for short, Isuzu under the hood, canary yellow. Was supposed to be 'mine' but Dad decided that his partner's kids needed it more, so I lost it to have it replaced with

1977 Datsun F10 hatch. Noteworthy I think as Datsun's first foray into front wheel drive. 1400cc engine 4 speed REALLY quick through the corners playing cat and mouse with my friends.

My first "owned" car should have been a 1948 Chevy Pick-up. Dad vetoed the idea despite my having the $600 saved for the truck in a farmers field.

Instead he bought me for $300 a 1972 VW fastback. "Wendall" I was just glad to have a car to call my own. His $300 investment though meant he could take it back anytime he wanted despite me tearing it down to find the spun bearing, seized piston, broken gears in the automatic transmission, worthless wiring loom. $1500 of my money later I had a $1000 car that lasted a year.

After many threats to take a sledgehammer to my "abortion" of a car as he called it with my hand built whale tail, I paid $50 a month to store it for a year or two and eventually sold it for $8 scrap metal. still have the engine and two rear fenders.

Next car was a 1968 Firebird convertible I bought and kept at the apt complex of they previous owner. 350 4V, 2 speed slushbox. Still fast enough to take the doors off a 1978 Firebird Frmula 400 with 4 beefy guys in it at a light one night. $1000 a year mandatory minimum insurance parked that one, sold it for $800, kept the 1 inch wider Catalina wheels I had hand painted to factory new.

next car (Harvey) was a 1965 (my birth year as a male) white Bug $1000. had a weak 1600 single port that was slowly losing a head stud. $1500 bought me a 1641 with a single Dellorto, Engle 105 cam, factory 'racing' 041 heads, 009 distributer. I had a transaxle custom built with 65 gear ratio for 1-3 and a bus 4th. gave me quick ratios for embarrassing corvettes off the line, then bogged at 50mph, but would do 85-90 on the freeway. Lowered, KYB's, Anti-roll bar. Clutch tube came loose so it got parked in favor of a Bicycle, and then...

MB5 Honda Motorcycle. 50cc 5 speed, modular spoke wheels, disc brake. pretty unique starter bike. fast to a point but 55mph required laying my 105 lb frame on the tank. Winter visitor (old people) pulled out in front of me, I dodged into on coming lane, but a 2nd car pulled out blocking that route and I have a lovely scar from the multiple compound high velocity fracture of the tibia and fibula.

Steel rod, 6 months on crutches and 2 years on a cane, and I was walking well again. I paid to have the bugs clutch fixed and drove Harvey (all three pedals) with one leg, adjusted the idle a little high.

Made the mistake of NOT T-boning the idiot that pulled out in front of me (you see this pattern continued for with me) I tried to make around the back of him into the oncoming lane..missed by 18 inches and took out a $2,550 city light pole. Wasn't cited, but had to buy the pole. Real sentimental about that car, still have the pan, rear clip, roof section, front 'firewall and windshield with doors attached, rear fenders...

bought a 1957 Karman Ghia, "Cora" only 2,000 made more rare than the 57 t-bird of vette. Thought better of dropping the engine in there since the Ghia still had intact 36hp motor.

Bought a 1963 Bug for $400."Wilbur". Sealing wax red original paint (whats left of it). Put my motor and trans in it. de-cromed, lowered it,Frenched 37 ford teardrop upside down in one fender never got around to finishing the other. Drove it for years. Parked it in the backyard for 10 years, tore it down to find rusty cylinders, have the motor mostly re-assembled.

1974 VW Westfallia in pumpkin orange. Lot of fun trips except the last one where we used the starter motor on the last couple of hills into mesquite Nevada, towed it home, "Max" never ran again.

By now I have body working skills so Dad passes down his Mercedes debacle to me.(as a wedding present) He bought a disassembled 1978 450SLC. When the Iranians he bought it from had reassembled it and painted it for him it somehow acquired the parts and serial number of a 1974 German Market 350SLC. No record of this really dark-Grey-market car entering the US. He sued and got reamed by the lawyers on fees worse than the Iranians. a year later the rust started bubbling up. Great driving car, that engines howl was the best Ive ever heard. The German 350 is higher compression and RPMS and HP than the US version 380.

Dad, (always the Indian giver) decided that my little sister's new husband who was in Yale Medical School at the time and did amazing things with rusty Land Rovers would be a better steward for the project so he took it back and wrote me a check for $1000. (which in no way came close to the money I had taking it to 3 different mechanics trying to get it to pass emissions until finally one custom built a non-electronic points type mechanical advance distributor. The new brother in law came out to AZ and looked at it and said, er, no thanks. I still miss "Wilhelm" a little.

About this time Dee's Dodge Omni died and we bought her a 1990 VW Passat wagon. Great car...HORRIBLE dealer network, ridiculous prices for parts ($110 for a 6" dealer only no work around possible radiator hose.) eventually gave this away.

I next had a hand-me-down was Dad's old midnight blue non-turbo 300D.(we called it "Adolf" for obvious reasons) it had 275k miles on it I nursed it to 320K and got long looks for being the driver when it died.

Somewhere in here we acquired a discarded company 1984 Mercedes wagon..Gunther was a great car, I put amazing loads in and on him without complaint, it was kind of a work truck and family hauler.

Next 'company' car was a 1985 300d turbo. "Rommel" was about to throw a rod, so his engine was rebuilt by a very good shop. Rommel ended up being my severance package and I was sad to sell him for 1/3 of the cost of the $10K rebuild. would have sold the POS VW Passat at that time, but the Mercedes was in better shape to sell and arguably worth more despite being 5 years older and 250K on the chassis.

1985 Suburban "Canyonero". Still to this day has never had a valid license plate, cost me a lot in fines court costs, jail..

1990 Plymouth Voyager "Hermione" served its purpose well, was ugly, later when we were doing better, I got it running again and gave it to a family that needed a car.

Somewhere in here I bought a 1965 Mercury Colony Park wagon "Big Buford" 300-310 hp factory FE 390 4V. 90,00 original miles because of a broken push rod. I figured this out after owning it 2 years and finally getting ready to pull the head on that side. 65 cents later and 2 hours of contortions I had the old broken one out. pulls strong. Love that car.

1984 Civic 1500S 154K miles. "Elvis"..$1200.GREAT CAR for a year or two..lost a timing belt bent a valve at 197K, replaced the head got another $10K, blew a head gasket (didn't know you don't re-use the head bolts??) redid the head, distributor problem, finally replaced the distributor, more problems, parked it.

1985 Civic 1300 cc $400 "Priscilla" Had an unfixable overheating problem, I replaced everything the previous owner did, finally found that they (and I following their example had rotated the thermostat 180 degrees) ran great from then on. only had 3 of 4 gears though. Emissions wouldn't test it with three gears. I swapped in a 1500S trans and got incredible mileage with that combo. Gave it to a brother-in-law with a long commute.

After years of family cars, slow cars, cars with no AC, we come to what Dee refers to as the MID LIFE CRISIS (no not the CD one, before that) 1992 Honda DX Hatch. Full GSR Swap. B18C1 8,200 rpm . Tuned to maybe 190+ hp Vs factory 172 on a 2,000 lb car. I had a LSD installed when I had the trans rebuilt. Lowered, Tein adjustables on all 4 corners, 4 wheel disk brakes, LS meshies painted black for stealth. No radio. Oh and we call it Honda Le (think Speedy Gonzales, I took a bus to EL Paso to pick it up from the young guy who built it and drove it from Houston. It captures the flavor of that night in the streets walking form the El Paso Bus Station. Andale' Andale' viva,viva. said just right sounds like HONDA lay)

IN order to get that I had to give a little, Dee drives a 1999 Honda Odyssey "Gladys". I didn't expect to hate it, but I am surprised how fun that is to drive.3.5 liter Vtec, same motor (J35?) as the Acura TLbut tuned to 235 instead of 295 hp. She wont let me touch it or I'd swap in a TL lower 3 inches, front SI lip, ditch the seats, twin turbo.....

The teenager got a 1965 bug when I was feeling nostalgic. He couldn't handle 40 year old parts failing, I took it back, but got him a 1990 CRX. lowered on Eibach springs, sweet 1998 HF wheels...he goes and CURBS the wheels, before I could steal them from him for the 1989 HF I was planning on auto crossing.

I probably left out a few. And yes I know, too long a post to even skim.

My male side has a deep-seated hatred of malls.

The concept of huge parking lots, maze-like overpriced department stores and crowds of people with more time and money than sense has no appeal for me. Someone's post today remindedme that in Femme mode I actually enjoy shopping.

I was discussing this with Dee and she reminded me that we had meant to go to the mall a week or so ago to look for clip-on earrings at Clair's. Clair's is a chain of discount costume jewelery and accessories stores. I said "Sure!"

On the way there we were talking about my shopping acceptance en femme, and wondered how this would go with a days growth of bears, and only knee highs as a nod to my fem side. On the way there it didn't look good. I was cussing out mindless drivers and I wasn't even driving.

Approaching the mall, I felt a visceral loathing. I remember when I was a 35 regular going into a store in the mall on the advice that the big department stores sometimes stock or can order suits in smaller sizes. The asshole snooty salesman at Dillard's took one look at me and sniffed, "We wouldn't have anything in your size." I was also told that Saks had really good quality boys suits and that one of those might fit. They were CRAP polyester, badly cut and $200-$300 back when $200 was actually a lot of money (1986ish) -and they didn't go up to my size either. I eventually found at J. Riggins a charcoal double-breasted pin-striped suit in a 36 and took it to a Chinese (literally) tailor and had it cut down. Small wonder I have never given much concern for my sartorial choices in male mode.

I started to feel better a bit inside the Dillard's entrance where my SO wisely chose the shoe entrance. Cute shoes all around. A lot more than I would pay, and with a male sales associate, not likely I was going to ask to try on anything whether en homme or en femme. He looked a little friendlier than the asshole in the menswear department of 21 years ago, but I wasn't taking any chances.

Through the store, into the mall, past Cinnabon (tempting very tempting), and found a store called icing's. Turns out to be a sister store to Clair's got some silver hoop earrings, (one had a bad backing, NOT looking forward to going back to the @*&?! mall to return that) a pair of Breakfast at Tiffany's Audrey glasses and a pair of Dee's favorite's from the 80's fake RayBans. Also got some silver bangles, and a smal strand of pearls.

At Clair's Dee found her RayBans in light lavender (looks pink in the store) and a pair in red.

Payless in the mall was marked up 30% over identical shoes I saw at Payless in a stand alone store a week ago.

All in all I left in a slightly better mood, but my hatred of malls was enough to burn right through and sunny feelings Barbara has about shopping.

Crossdressing and sin.

---

A post on www.crossdressing.com about how a crossdresser who attends a pretty open-minded congregation en femme mentioned this in passing in explaining how she gets confused sometimes about her male and female sides. As a side tangent to her post, people responded about the fact that she was in church at all dressed that way. It led to many responses on both sides of the fence about it.

A couple of the posts really got me irritated, and I felt compelled to respond. As this touches on something that I have been thinking about anyway, I thought I'd re post my response here.

Quote:

I haven't went to church enfem. i have always felt that is GOD'S house and Deuteronomy 22:5 " A woman must not ware men's clothing . nor a man ware woman's clothing. for the LORD your GOD detests anyone who does this" I hear it coming i know we are all sinners, but this is me O.K.

This, I think is the VERY quote that my BITCH of a mother felt inspired to quote in an effort to shame a 4 year-old boy playing dress-up.

Quote:

Dressing and acting like a woman in church is a direct ticket to Hell, at least according to the bible. Do you really believe?

I'm assuming sarcasm here. Just because people misuse religion for any number of reason like personal gain and enrichment, power, control, hiding their own insecurities doesn't mean in and of itself that the underlying principles are invalid.

Quote:

I hope your cloak has a tassel on every corner, and that you are abiding by the regulations regarding your daughters' indentured servitude. Reality check: This is not the nation of Israel anymore. And are the ladies who wear pants or the ladies who wear skirts, the ones who are going to Hell? The ones with short hair, or long hair?

Exactly. My faith, (as many other Christian sects) holds that with Christ, all the old laws were done away with. Old Testament rules were an attempt to codify all the rights and wrongs so that a person could in theory live their whole life if they followed all the rules and not offend God, thereby achieving their own salvation. Perfection is of course impossible. With the atonement, the point was strive for perfection and Christ (who wore a dress and sandals and had long hair) makes up the difference.

The religion of my parents, (and mine and my children's now) is SUPPOSED to be based on the God's love and acceptance. My parents not just on this issue but many others used shame and intimidation and even violence to enforce their own version of this faith. For them it was all about how well behaved their seven children appeared in a prominent pew at church on Sunday. (Even if that took threats whispered through clenched smiles while digging fingernails into young flesh).

I was under dressed in a pair of pantyhose one Sunday morning a month or so before my planned coming out to my SO. I was getting dressed for church and decided on a whim to leave them on. I felt more honest and a greater access to God's love dressed. I do think culturally and out of a sense of respect I won't make a practice of dressing for church, but It really resolved some feelings and guilt for me do it.

Since this post I found this reference online from a student of the Torah. He points out that the passage about a mans item not being on a women was most likely related to religious observance items such as prayer shawls, the point being that men alone use these in their observances that are held away from the women. The passages that relate to men must not wear womens garments are so that they can not go among women undetected. At that time men wore white, women wore colors. At that time men and women did not fraternize at all, the point being if one never associates with those of the opposite gender had little to know opportunity to commit adultery.

Scratcha-back...

I am a back lush. I will lay still for until her arm threatens to fall off. The other night I spooned up to her and begged for some scritchin. In midst of it I crawled away long enough to reach one of my new bras (the soft cupped rose/peach with the lace over the cups.)

I hooked it on and snuggled over again. It reminded me of times past with the deliciously naughty thrill of extending a back-scratching session to a little under shirt, teasing the bra straps fun. Looking back was it about undressing the girl or fondling the bra straps?

Stepping "OUT" at the Bodega.

Dee and I had seen some super-cute shoes on a table in front of a bodega that is located next to Savers (a second hand store). This area of town has been acquiring a Latin flavor for many years, and its pretty common to find shops that have more Spanish than English spoken by both employees and customers.

This particular one has Sinaloan Vaquero duds on one side, (hats, boots, mariachi lace-up shirts, western shirts with arrows on the pockets) and short skirts, sexy tops and cute shoes with at least 4" heels on the other side.

Dee had gotten some black and white polka-dot peep-toe sling-backs and a pair of espadrilles. Barbara was being good and demurely refused to buy either the red sequined pumps or the brown and white polka-dot peep-toe sling-backs wedges. (Incidentally, I didn't even know the term sling back 2 months ago, and I own 4 pairs of just that variety of heels now.)

I went back today, confidant from my experience with my personal lingerie shopper at target, that girls the world over live in peace and harmony with each other and live to help other girls regardless of genetic gender to look pretty. A little Polly-Anna, but it was a sunshine and f-ing daffodils kinda day for me.

The grab-a-shoe table was gone, as were the prettiest ones that were piled in the window, and all on sale at the time 1/2 of of the usually ridiculously low price of $9.99, were apparently back up to $9.99. $10 seemed when I'd just spent $50 on underwear that doesn't actually do a very good job of either covering and or supporting my given genitalia, and brassieres that seem a little unnecessary, given the level of mammalian protuberance that my genetic gender produces.

Still, it couldn't hurt to look, could it? I inquired about the shoes that used to be in the window, and was made to understand (wrongly) in broken English, that the shoes I sought were in the back in the main shoe section. I hungrily cruised the aisles like a teenager (or a 41 year-old with a midlife crisis) who just discovered his first engine swap article in a tuner magazine.

I enjoyed that for a bit, then was more or less heading out the door when I found a pair of Black with tan polka-dot sling-back heels that I decided must be the ones I remembered, just wrongly. I was careful not to offend the machismo (or catch the eye of) any of the bright amarillo boots and puffy shirt wearing crowd. Stepping out of my male tasseled loafers, I revealed a hint of racer red polish through the sheer sandal toe. I slipped on a size nine and found that it fit pretty well. I was hastilly putting it back in all of its complicated packaging when a young Latina with the best English (such as it was) in the place offered her help. I was getting ready to leave, but thought what the heck. I explained that my wife and I were in the other day and I described a pair of shoes I had seen at the time. She registered recognition and motioned me with her back to the back again. In high speed fluent Spanish, she called out to 'Selena' who apparently has no English, but a great handle on inventory. She described my shoes and Selena produced them. Voila! (didn't catch the Spanish equivalent). They looked at me expectantly, and finally asked what size do I need? I knew it was either 9 or 10. I asked for the 9, took a deep breath and slipped off a loafer and wriggled my red toes into the womans shoe. It fit. They were puzzled, but apparently not firmly assuming that I intended to wear them, because when I explained to my translator that I wanted to build an outfit from the shoes up as opposed to the other way around, the light visibly dawned as I explained that I was new to dressing in womens clothes and could use some help coordinating pieces.

Once they got it, they were off to help. They saw no reason not to involve other sales-girls in the confab if it helped settle a point such as sizing conversions and fashion debate. By the end of the trip, I had a chocolate brown tube top, (wait, its just an under layer!!!!) and a silk sheer taupe top with nice detail work if not the best fabric. At the register, the awareness that this man with the smooth bald head, was apparently going to wear these clothes, and they were not at all taken aback despite cultural taboos about alternative lifestyles. I suspect, they just figured, those crazy Norte Americano's are as likely as not to do any strange thing you can think up.

When,(continuing a tread of conversation with girl one about having been here previously and gotten shoes with and for my wife) I mentioned in passing that my wife probably goes along with my dressing because it means I don't mind the shopping, and in fact encourage it.. The clerk smiled along with the rest, and then suddenly stopped, and said "Wait, did you say your wife??!"

She had no problem seeing a world where a dude might wear heels. It flabbergasted her that a dude with a wife would. I explained a little about CD and orientation without at all getting into gender versus orientation. I left her with the little knowledge I had gained about CD'ing and myself. That CD in and of itself isnt gay, maybe a little wierd, but not gay, and that I'm ok with the weird feeling it gives me.

A Fashion "Outing"...

Lazing and groping a bit in bed, I was feeling very fem, and well, Dee was feeling up Barbara. She was into it, which makes me REALLY into it and hanging on her every word and suggestion. (She often says I am a bit of an audio-slut). She asked whether I had on 'big boy' or 'big girl' pants on under my homme jammie pants. When I responded "commando" she was a visibly disappointed I wasn't wearing a lacy pair of panties under. That was so sweet!

We canoodled and played and reached an er, resting point for me. She expressed an interest in re-visiting the particular brand of gentle kink we had stumbled upon. She suggested that I be dressed for the next session. We played the "and what would I wear with that?" game envisioning the scene and came up with an outfit that required some shopping.

We always have at least one or often two laptops within reach. Dee fired hers up and searched for 40a bras. As a humbly endowed girl, Barbara has a couple of cast-off 38Cs and a couple of sports tops, and otherwise lets it all hang out so to speak. (Well up there anyway, lower she has been experimenting with keeping it all tucked in.)

She found out Target caries some 40A's in their Gilligan & O'Malley line. I was fired up on testosterone courage, and feminine desires and resolved to go a bit farther from home to a Target and buy a black one and hopefully a matching set of panties. I don't think Target has garter belts to complete the image she described, but maybe some seamed thigh high stockings, or ooo fishnets...

So I slithered a pair or control top pantyhose over my race-car red toe nails, up over my smoooooth calves (VEET!) and tight on my thighs...a little tuck here and there, and everything is well under control. I have to fold the top down by 2/3 to make sure the waistband doesnt show above the very low waist on my XOXOX stretch jeans. The jeans fitted snug and slimming on the thighs, cute seams at the knee and wide 70's flares. I put on a plain guys pocket tee so I have someplace for my wallet.

I found myself in heading for the freeway to be passing within a mile of the Target that I might actually shop at normally. Feeling brave I went in.

Approaching the lingerie department I saw a confident young 20 something sales associate walking as if to go there with a woman perhaps my age at her side. I hoped she would turn into lingerie and the other would keep going. My perception is that the young would be more encouraging of alt lifestyle choices, and given the opportunity, who wouldn't rather be waited on by the young and cute.

Sadly, both kept walking leaving the lingerie department un-attended. Wait, paradigm shift here. I used to circle endlessly if buying something slinky for Dee in mainstream stores, darting in to make a quick grab when the place cleared out. I realized I really craved a conversation with a genetic girl about my desire to emulate them. I decided that I could probably find the bras myself since I knew the make and model I was hunting for a purchase the way a guy would, hunt it, nab it, drag it to the register, strap it over the fender for the ride home. As the occasional customer wandered in I felt that old pervy feeling creep in, but I perservered. Found the brand, the make, many colors, all pretty basic soft cups, fairly unadorned, but, I thought kind of how I see Barbara developing. A little sporty, pretty, but not to cutesy. (who am I kidding I adore cutesy)

Anyway, I am again browsing the clearance rack, for the variety of colors and textures. Looking in vain for 40A but finding a 38NA, a 38A and a 38AB. I grab them $5 a piece! A pleasant voice a couple of carousels away and below my sightline inqires, are you doing OK or could you use some help? In guy mode, I say quickly as programmed, "Yes, I'm just fine thanks."

Shifting gears (downward, while rapidly decelerating in a curve, so I double clutched) I channel Barbara, and say, "Well, no actually, I could use some help."

"Sure" she says, winding through the racks and who is it but the VERY girl I first saw on the way to the area

I am bad with faces and my comparisons usually result in such poor results that my wife laughs at how I mix up Dennis Quaid and Kevin Costner in Silverado. I can tell them apart in their own movies, but together, they somehow grin the same to me.

SO take this with a grain of salt, but this girl looked EXACTLY like Anne Hathaway's cousin's neighbor. Only prettier.

I explained that I was looking for 40A bras and I thought that the 38A's would do if they had extenders. I was eyeing a red lace 38c as well, and decided I would get better help if I explained. Plus I was DYING to have somebody, anybody make some comment or at least an eyeball movement that suggested they had any idea that I was buying girl clothes for ME!

I explained that I had recently started exploring an apparently long suppressed urge to crossdress, and that I was unsure about whether I would like to wear forms or not but that for now I was trying it 'flat-chested' and kind of think I like that look, but want to see what my options might be. She just smiled and said that she could help, starting with the extenders. We talked forms a bit, they had enhancers, but they were more for GG's to put under real breast for a little lift.

She then asked what shall we look for next? I explained that I wanted to get some panties that matched or at least complimented the bras. In male mode I have poor color sense. I know when its wrong but cant tell what direction to make it right. I showed her the one peach pair that seemed close but not right to its peach bra counterpoint. She looked and said they were actually a match that the differences in fabrics and stretching would account for the variance I noticed and would look right together on. For some reason I felt less pervy looking for bras, and was methodical in my search. Probably because bra's and boobs weren't really my thing growing up, but panties were another thing altogether. I had flitted about hunting and pecking and hadn't succeded in matching the others.

I explained that ideally I wanted a higher French cut preferably with a little lace on the edges. She agreed that they don't seem to make them quite like that. As an alternative she sugested either a hipster brief for better coverage and support, Or a tanga for a lacy V shape. I opted for the tanga.

Several times throughout this exchange, I'd express a little mild embarrasement and she would reassure me that "It really isn't a big deal, at all." She did agree that, no in the middle of our conservative bedroom community she didn't actually run into many men buying lingerie at all and as far as she could tell not likely for themselves. She explained that she had at least in part grown up in Brazil, where they are a bit more open to variance, but that "honestly, I can't see you running in to problems with anyone here".

I was dying to try something on in a major retail chain, but I had more in mind jeans or maybe a blouse that I snuck in with some polo shirts. Intimate apparel was not what I had in mind for such a BIG step. She mentioned, you could go try these on if you want. I asked about logistics and found that its fine to take female clothes into the men's changing room. I looked around, and she pointed to the only dressing rooms I had seen which were in maternity. NO wonder I never use them en homme! I must have looked nervous because she asked. "Would you rather I walk you over, I could carry these for you." I reluctantly accepted her help, and saw when I got there why she had offered. First I would have to leave the panties behind.(Sanitation and all that, good to know my new panties are virgin - wish I could say the same for some of Dee's lingerie before I gave it to her ~chagrined~) Next problem was going to be that the attendant was male. She breezed me through. If she hadn't done that I would have come home with 5 bras only 2 of which fit. I would have wasted the money on the extenders which I don't need after all. With the 15 lbs I lost to go en femme in the last two months I have lost 2 inches in band size!

Hooray for fitting into 38A's (well, AA really, but nothing a little tissue won't fix.) much cuter stuff in 38's. cuter still in 36. the cutest bras I think seem to come in 34B. By the time you hit C's they seem to be focused on cantilevered engineering as pioneered my the Howard Hughes. All in all give me little ones in a pretty lacy camisole any day.

This day wasn't over so stay tuned for stepping "Out" in the Bodega next.

Retail therapy.

Two issues involving shopping in womens departments were troublesome for me.

When I was in deep denial, and my wife was more comfortable with being showered with gifts from Fredrick's and Victoria's Secret, I LOVED browsing. I would browse and browse and fondle fabrics until I started feeling like a letch, then I'd grab something and fumble to the register.

I think the wedding band was kind of my ticket to enter those stores guilt free. Before that I used to pas them again and again,. security must've had fun watching me stalk the display dummies.

I felt A LOT more comfortable in lingerie departments during the Christmas Season or near Valentines Day. It was like hanging a sign around my neck saying, "these won't be for me, I have a (girlfriend, wife, SO) who will be wearing these in my presence as I make sweet love to her in a most studly fashion. OK, that wouldn't all fit on the sign, but I felt shielded. Logically, I knew that obviously the SO's birthday or an anniversary could account for any other time of the year, but I always felt pervy if I didn't have a legitimate excuse.

OH an aside here. Just before Mother's day, I was headed for a thrift store. (this is before I bought any Fem clothes for me , ever. I called Dee and asked if we needed anything. She said, "well your birthday is coming up, if you see something you like get it!" I found a pair of mens tasseled loafers that were exactly like the ones I had worn out one pair each of the last 4 years or so. (En homme I don't vary my drabness much) I felt that set a male baseline and this pair of clear 6" stripper mules could somehow sneak by unnoticed. I went up to the clerk, an explanation on the tip of my tongue. She no doubt wouldn't have noticed or remembered the transaction, except I piped up as she reached for the heels. "So, how do you think those will go over on Mother's Day?" She laughed. I said, "Yeah, I'm thinking this probably better not be the only present she gets." I didn't elaborate whether it was my Wife or Mother that would be the lucky recipient.

Speaking of the Witch, my Mother may not have "caused" my gender identity issues, but she sure as hell confused the mix, and added a healthy serving of shame on top. When I was young my mom had a lot of difficulty clothing me and my many siblings. In my case there was the added challenge of finding clothes (on a budget) to fit a 72 lb 4'11" tall boy with a fairly fragile ego. Often she would slip over into the Juniors Department. If the item was truly unisex, I would reluctantly accept and wear them, realizing that the choices were limited, and time and money to clothe 6 other sibs for back-to-school were taxed. I was often teased about the source of my clothes, the cut,fit and style. Boys being boys, and by that I mean homophobic, insecure, mean, bullying, assholes, often made girly comments of called me a fag because although I was a simmering cauldron of testosterone and worked out more than most of them, they felt more manly to point out every feminine trait I had.

Then came THE INCIDENT OF THE JEANS. I usually owned no more than three pairs of jeans which I cared for carefully and laundered myself. Happily I had shot up from 4'8" tall to a towering 4'11", within sight of 5' and nearly within the grasp of reaching the heady heights of the shortest girls I knew. Of to Mervyns for some new Levi (701?) boot-cut jeans. (I then, was already a creature of habit, I like what I like) These were either out, or not made in a size of probably 26W x 28L. Mom had me trying on some that had 'room to grow in' (I NEVER grew fast enough before I completely wore out anything). They were falling off me. I came out of the dressing room and she handed me another pair. I assumed she had grabbed jeans from Juniors again. Usually, if she was in a semi-reasonable mood, I could reason with her about the amount a bruising a given article of clothes might cost me. These had girly pockets, which I thought I could pass off OK because after all this is maybe 1978 or 1979 and Fem-like jeans then (as now) were fashionable. I got into the dressing room and then noticed that they closed with a button, not a snap as all jeans I had had before did. A small detail, but the bullying was always in the details. I came out with a lie on my lips about them not fitting, she insisted I go back in and put them on and show her. I then protested about the button. She blew a gasket and demanded to know if I had even tried them on. When I admitted the truth, she said if I wanted to have opinions about my clothes, I could buy my own clothes from then on. It wasn't hyperbole. I got no allowance, I was never paid for babysitting, mowing my paren'ts lawn, or ironing all the clothes for the entire family of 9 since the age 10. (To this day, I iron nothing, I catch it in the dryer and hang it up.) I wasn't allowed to have a paper route because they felt they would end up having to get me out of bed. I earned about $20 to $25 per month mowing 4 lawns. I also had little enterprises like riding my bike 4 miles to buy Choice brand pencils for $1.50 for 12 that were prized for pencil fighting and selling them for 25 cents a piece.

Flash forward 25+ years. My teenage boy at 16 has a feminizing girlfriend that Emo-fy's him into wearing low-rise girl jeans. I am horrified. My wife knows my Mervyns story so she neglects to mention that the jeans came from Mervyns. Well, now Barbara and Dee go to a thrift store. I hadnt thought about it but after the Mervyns debacle, I never set foot in another dressing room for 25+ years. I am losing weight and realize by looking at the amazing variety of cuts that girl jeans have way too many choices to just get a pair of each and try them on at home. I make a few selections of size 14, try them on, too big. I try some 12's find a pair, even find one in 9/10 that looks cute on.

I wore one of those pairs a couple of days later. They were Gloria Vanderbuilt "Amber" jeans. I decided to go to the very Mervyns to face my past while otherwise en homme. I was delighted to see that Mervyns sold the very pair I was wearing, so I got the therapy of wearing them in Mervyns without spending anything. I browsed the womens and juniors for 1/2 hour or so. NO one said boo.

I saw some cute dresses in my size (I thought) but wasn't quite brave enough to ask to try them on, without my wife and infant with me to serve as 'beards' to establish my straight-guy bonifides. It was really liberating.

Trying to see the other point of view.

Dee and I were talking about a post on www.crossdressers.com about how CD's sometimes complain that their significant others don't accept them if they aren't interested in playing the way the CD has in mind. This was the result of our conversation and my post on the matter there:

The only reason my wished for fantasy and my (at least for present) reality match up AT ALL is the happy coincidence that I, a closeted CD who wasn't sure what it all meant, happened to fall in love with and connive into marrying a cute girl who, like me does find the female form to be appealing or dare I say it, arousing.

If any of the opposites were true this would be awkward. For one example, If I had a soft spot for lumberjacks (I mean the Brawny dude ones not the Monty Python variety), It wouldn't be fun for her to put on plaid and pencil in some razor stubble, and swing a big double headed axe. In the next case, say she had always loved wearing those Sears Super-Dennis boy jeans that her evil stepmother bought her, we might have a problem. I don't even find a woman in women's sweatpants arousing, so how would I feel if she wanted to have a double mastectomy and have hair plugs added to her chest?

Thats really what we are asking. We want acceptance on our terms because of course whatever our gender identity is on the continuum, we cannot change that through willpower, neither can they on the orientation continuum. If it isn't interesting, it just isn't.

Having said that, when her early attempt to broach the subject of my dressing that she stumbled upon, I was devastated to hear that she would "have no problem with my dressing if that is what I wanted to do." In my immaturity I yearned for beyond acceptance to actual jaw dropping arousal. If she wasn't into it, I didn't want to even look at that part of me. What would be the point I thought.

From LONNNNG therapy-like talks we have had and lots more reading than posting here, and elsewhere I have found out a lot about Barbara.

She was formed early or was always there. It was non-sexual which seems odd given that I so eagerly wanted to include her in that way. She was shoved back in the closet probably just before puberty, and has had only the slightest peek at the world on really a couple dozen occasions in verses a total of 42 years developing my admittedly underdeveloped male persona.

Barbara is in essence a giggly teenager, reading tiger beat for make-up tips. she craves attention and acceptance. She wants to be noticed, she wants to be pretty,and needs constant assurance that she is.

I am rushing her maturation, because this feels too important to drop, and too fraught with interpersonal peril not to get it right.

Feeling the urge...

We are now back from Vegas. We are both pretty tired. I felt the urge to dress-up pretty strongly when I got home, maybe the clean house was a part of it. Our teenager did a really great job of cleaning the house while we were gone. He had stayed home to work, and even suffered heat-stroke on his job, so I was really not expecting a clean house. If anything teenagers being teenagers, I expected the remnants of a party. I owe him an apology. I'll do that today when he gets back home. I was dressed in drab on the ride home. (actually kind of flamboyantly, but in a male sort of way) Traffic, rude drivers, the long ride, I wasnt feeling all that pretty. When I came home and saw my garage hanging open having carefully made access difficult so my "mid-life crisis" car wasnt stolen (or borrowed) while we were gone, I got pretty angry.

When I finally went up to go to bed, I felt the urge to put on something pretty,but I was so tired I just crashed 'en homme' woke up, had a nice long hot soft shower, and slipped on a pair of aqua panties under my jammies. Felt nice but only whetted my appetite to dress without bedding her back down.

Happy Anniversery Dee, I Love You more now than ever.

So, I had these weird fantasy-based ideas that were formed a couple of months ago at the juncture of me re-discovering and acknowledging my urge to dress, and Dee making Anniversary reservation at Circus Circus. Frequently, I have felt that her libido is at its highest in a clean room with clean sheets where someone else makes the bed. Go figure.

Specifically one memorable gender-bending experience took place in the bathroom of our room at this very hotel on a previous visit. I had this idea of practicing my dressing, finding cute clothes, waxing as needed and figuring out make-up. My BIG PLAN was to wow her into a lesbian tryst in the hotel room.

A couple of problems with this idea. One, we got a single room. Two, it is our Anniversary! Not really the traditional gift for ones 15th anniversary. (turns out it is Crystal - I should Google more often.)


After the initial shock of her finding out and her irritation with me keeping a secret, and her pleasure at finding out that the clothes she found in the garage were neither related to an affair nor trophies of a serial killer, she is a fun companion on my shopping sprees. She is SHOCKED to be the voice of reason when it comes to shopping. (Talk about Gender Bending!!!)

She has been so supportive, even helping to pack some fem clothes and offering to help me find time to try it in public. The teenager having to work, cost us a babysitter so logistics would have been a problem.

I resolved that this anniversary, already somewhat de-romanticized by the addition of 4 of the 5 kids including an extremely cute, but equally demanding infant, would not be about Barbara's enthusiastic debut.

Well that attitude kinda worked and it kinda didn't. I found I was stressed getting ready to go (I am an OGRE until we actual get the house in the rear-view) So I wanted to under-dress or stealth dress a little. I tried to wear a pair of women's pants with my traditional underdog traveling t-shirt. I found I didn't like the fit, the pockets (placement and lack of) So I grabbed a pair of tan men's slacks. The only nod to dressing was a pair of sheer knee-highs in my tasseled loafers. I slipped of the loafers and drove 'bare'foot which felt nice and cool on my painted toes. (my fingers and toes have been a translucent shade of pink all week)

I was REALLY tired after a 5.5 hour drive and a little calorie low from my rigid diet trying to regain my previously so called (by others) 'feminine' build. I was lugging the second load of suitcases across the parking lot and up many floors, when Dee pulled me into the bath. I'm thinking...mmm kinky might be on the way... and also I am realllly tired...

She had a lavender and chamomile bath drawn for me! Barbara REALLLLY likes to get wet and slippery. I was not shaving (my head, beard or well the rest of me. My head to give a more sympathetic nod to my 8 year olds trauma with his summer buzz-cut, my face because I want to shave right before whenever we try make-up again..(whenever we actually find time and privacy for that!) and the rest because I was waiting a few more days so Veet would be more effective. Well in the bath, fresh blades available to Gliiiide over calves, I just couldn't help it. I Love the feeling and not feeling weird about it, not having to make up stories about why I shaved what.

Dee was appropriately enthusiastic about my close shave. Left the goatee, (which looks weird to me, but that is my most persistent stubble and again I want to do some makeup later. Dee likes the goatee as a nod to my manly man-ness.

A long car ride, some heavy greasy cheeseburgers for the kids with a benedryl chaser and we sort of had some in the dark privacy.

I was really enjoying my smoothness between the sheets, as was Dee. I was experimenting with tucking. I have found if you tuck early before, well arousal, it is easier to keep things tucked and out of sight (and mind). The problem was I was pretty aroused. We have been reading and it seems not too uncommon for a hetero-couple with a cross-dressed male to start with tender kisses between two sensual girls, and as the GG and the CD go at it the Femme side recedes a little at a time until the home stretch which is fairly traditionally male in its character. Makes sense since in fact, my orgasms do eventually happen with the actual use of the optional equipment package I was born with. I have no penis hate, (in fact I have admired mine for years) and she is a fan as well, so it is all to the good.

The thing I have been trying to balance is to stay in Barbara mode for longer periods as it is a less driven feeling for both of us and fun and new and different.

The problem is the male side loves fun and new and different too, and tends to horn in.

I was really enjoying her enjoyment of Barbara, but was finding that Barbara's er well, clit tucked toward the bed was threatening to pogo us both off the bed. There is a point of insistence in the male organ where it will no longer hide, will no longer bend (to ones will, but one could surmise certain literal connotations here too accurately). I suggested we girls polish off Barry quickly (he wasn't going to need much coaxing) and go back to a more languorous pace together again.

We did and he did. He retreated to the bathroom. Flag part furled, cleaned and took some time to insure that a full bladder wasn't going to cause any undesired physiological effects.

Barbara emerged from the bathroom. leaving Barry behind, thoughts of rose petals and sunny meadows and play in her mind. As Dee and Barbara resumed a gentle pace, Dee whispered in my ear, "You know, as you went into the bathroom, I suddenly realized I am in the mood for some DICK." Isn't that just the way it goes. Synchronizing our levels of kink for the last 15 years has been both a challenge and a delight.

Shopping with abandon.

We were at Walmart last night.

I returned the size 13 panties WITHOUT a RECEIPT...cant believe I did that. Dee went with me for cover then outed me, when the cashier said do you want to exchange or refund? Dee looks at me and says, its up to you!! She didn't realize till later what she had done. I could see a little amusement in the girls eyes, but she was very cool about it.

I've lost my wallet and the card I did have in a drawer unused for a year or two was what I was going to pay with. (Barbara has run us completely out of cash) I realized that the cosmetics, a skirt for Barbara, a top for Dee and intimates for Barbara was over $100 then we added groceries. I have no ID and I knew they would check over $100, and Dee doesn't have a card on that particular account.

I took all the frozen stuff out put it in a cart and had Dee circle until I checked out 1 load, it was $60ish. I then abandoned that cart in the front, Dee slid over and took that, and I went through with the second.

I had Veet, eyebrow templates, 1 package each of cotton and also nylon high cut size 7 panties (now that I get my 12-14 skirt size does NOT mean I wear size 13 panties) A pair of fun robin's egg blue satiny panty with lace trim, lip liner, lip plumping. gloss,face cream, triple blade razors. Now I don;t have Dee for cover. It was great...until I got to the total...$144! Eeeep~!

She just asked to see the card, compared signature and said to have a fun evening. She probably said have a nice day, but I hear it as have fun playing dress-up.

My male side (when I listen at all to him) is a little disgtraught at having lost all moral authority over shopping.