Keeping a hand in ...

A very fine day to you all, and a double-cheeked air kiss for good measure. Lets leave out the hugs though shall we? It’s a tad warm, and I don’t want to wrinkle your collective blouses.

A couple of newly minted cross dressing words will be tendered here in this dispatch. It’s a longish article, with dialog and background notes, so settle in for a little while ( a smart G+T is Petra's cocktail of choice) for a read now that you are here. I will apologize for the length of this post. It seems as though, even in boxers, I cannot be brief.

So, yes, the Drabbatical continues. I do keep my hand in, so to speak though, online. Lots of nice sites, blogs, words and pictures here and there. Entertaining and comforting to know the resources are within easy reach, and that I am not alone in my habits and their patterns in my life. And I do receive the odd email from a few of you whose virtual friendship I really truly value. Thanks all!

This online activity (and now long overdue update of Voyages en Rose) is a nice low stress surrogacy for the actual cross dressing. Lets call it Surrodressing. Hence newly minted word o’ the day #1, with formal definition here:

Surrodressing [sur-uh-dres-ing]
- verb

1. an action that substitutes for dressing, specifically cross dressing
2. to tend to dormant cross dressing habits through interaction with online media, specifically internet enabled technologies.

So, yeah, that has been all well, good, healthy and adequate for Petra’s few and seasonally petulant demands. But yesterday was interesting and I wanted to share the story with you.

Mr. Bellejambes requires man clothes of course. I am not large by any definition, and like most guys (sorry about the generalization, but stereotypes are real time-savers) I don’t really enjoy shopping for my (drab) self. My dimensions compound this. Its tough to find my waist size, and when I do, the inseams are … Capri-like. Its frustrating as hell. I enter shops expecting disappointment. I leave with expectations in tact and arms empty.

So yesterday, bearded and with frayed khakis I had some time ‘tween meetings and dropped into a Banana Republic. Completely fresh faced, attractive and smart young Sales Assistant approached after I had been poking about for a few minutes with no luck.

“Hi, can I help you find anything”
“I doubt it, but lets try … do you have anything in a smaller waist with a 32” inseam?”
“Sometimes we do, but they go quickly. If you didn’t see anything here I can check the back for you…”
“Sure, knock yourself out. In the meantime, let me try these 30’s on just in case I have lost bone density or something”

So, yeah too short, but Lindsay was back in a flash with a couple of hopeful pants (ed. trousers I mean). And yes, they fit and I was able to snag a couple of pairs of perfectly anonymous and serviceable khaki’s, on sale no less. I guess I was happy enough to not guard against loose lips then. We engaged conversationally….

“We really should carry more in this size, they always sell out…”
“Yeah, and it kills me. I swear, its easier for me to find a great fitting dress than a
pair of pants for crying out loud…”

Slight pause

“Really?”
“I wouldn’t lie to you”
“O. Hmmm. But, you know, I can see that would be true.”
“For real. I sometimes have to dart in a skirt waistband a little, but dresses, never a problem”
“We have some nice things on sale upstairs. Do you want to take a look?"

I was tempted. Banana Republic does stock some yummy stuff. But time pressed on me.

“Nah, I’m OK for now, but I’ll be back. Thanks for all the help though! Which way is the cash register”
“Just up the stairs … nice to meet you and thanks!”

So, there I was, having needlessly outed myself, and quite satisfied. I suppose there is a little sedition in cross dressing. A little playing with the worlds reflexes and assumptions about people. And I take satisfaction in those acts too.

And now dear friends, a confession on my writing process. When I started laying out this piece, I had lost a key and relevant encounter from earlier in the day. It's just come back to me. You ready?”

I was in a check out in a Pet Smart, and the mother daughter team was conversing behind me. Thus spoke the 5 year old:

“Mommy, why did we get the blue collar?’
“That is so people can tell the boy dog from the girl dog. We would get pink or purple if our doggie was a girl doggie.”

Well, friends, you and I know that our little 5 year old is going to meet some cross dressers in her long and prayerfully happy life. I really truly hope they are out to her, and she reacts the same way as my Banana Republic friend:

• No biggie, and how can I help?

And I hope she has a boy dog with a pink collar and maybe a girl dog with a studded leather one.

I promised you two new cross dressing words at the top of the post and have only tendered one. You have already indulged me enough getting this far today. So I now promise you the rest of my yesterday, and a new word in a soon to be thought through and pecked out ramble over the next day or so.

Happy dressing and happy everything else in the meantime.

Petra