Cross Dressers wins Victoria’s Secret Sweeps (Moral Victory Category)

Careful readers will note 2 headline characteristics:

- The plural form: Cross Dressers, and
- Moral Victory. Moral, not actual.

It is true, I am not going to New York with a purse stuffed with Victorias' fragrant lucre. I did not even come close. The Body by Victoria “Love your Body” online contest has come to a shrieking, early halt owing to vote tampering. With the (alleged) scallywags having been shown the door, it seems as though Casey is on her way, with a staggering 26,454 votes. Yes, I did rather imagine myself staggering under the weight of a dozen or so signature pink bags, and generally lighting up Manhattan en femme, and it was a nice imagining. But only that.

I am delighted for Casey. She is a cancer survivor, with hard days yet ahead. I introduced Casey to you in an earlier post, said then, and repeat now, that this is a person entirely deserving of some luxuries, pampering and a fine distracting time in an exciting place.

What a fun lark the whole exercise was for me too. My entry, with your help, came in 432nd out of over 10,000 official contestants with an understated, and fittingly ladylike 58 votes. Pathetic when measured against Casey’s hordes, but I did register in the upper 5%. Pretty rarefied territory and much better than I honestly expected. I believe, but cannot confirm that my entry won the unofficial, unsanctioned, Cross Dresser category. That is a victory of sorts, but not the victory that I am keen to share with you today.

The very last vote that I received came from a stranger, a fellow contestant, and someone simply nice enough to take the time to reach out to me, say some nice things, move on, and leave the world a happier place.

Meet Laura. I suspect that Laura like myself and many other contestants had noticed over the last couple of days that her vote count was not growing. I had noticed that my legitimate one-a-day ballot box stuffing was not registering in the count, but got distracted and moved on. Like many of you, I too am afflicted with CDADHD. Laura however, being of sound mind, had a bit more curiosity and set about to research the topic. She Googled up a text string with “Body by Victoria” and “Vote Count” in it and Voyages en Rose was high enough in the search engine returns to catch her attention. She then spent a little time poking around this site, and was moved to leave a blog comment.

She said some very nice things, and things as well that demonstrate sensitivity to realities faced daily by simple Cross Dressers like me, and the Transgendered of every stripe. She focused in her note on things that she suspects we endure, and not on the many things that, if fortunate, we enjoy. She gave a little salute to what she called my “inner and outer beauty”, and then vanished off into an anonymous internet sunset.

Laura, going by her photos, is quite young. I don’t suspect that she has had much in the way of exposure to people who express and present as I do, and as many of you do. Given that, I was very touched that she took the time, kept an open mind and spent a little time thinking about people with our curious habits, or needs, or gifts, or whatever we want to think of them as. Thinking about how the world reacts to us. And then, thinking about a way to welcome us into her world.

And that my friends, is the victory. Small, but big enough to share around, amongst us all.

I had time enough just before the contest was terminated to place just one vote for Laura. I wish I could have done more. I had hoped to be able beg and implore enough of you to spread the good karma around and click your mouse once or twice for this nice stranger. Alas, it was not to be. With the contest closed early, we can’t send her to New York, but if you wanted to send a nice message or 2 to her, please leave a comment here on this post. I suspect that our new friend will visit again. I would love her to know her kindness is greatly appreciated.

Hearts and minds are won and changed one at a time.

Have a terrific weekend all, and thanks again Laura for helping Cross Dressers everywhere win.

Cross Dressing, Contests and Curves

Faithful fellow wayfarers on these Voyages en Rose will note my recent entry in, and feeble attempt to win, a Victoria’s Secret giveaway, the Body by Victoria 3 Day NYC spa and shopping spree. I want to first of all thank those of you who did take a minute to leave no chad hanging and actually support this cross dressers campaign. As of this morning (Aug 26, with a little under a month left in the sweeps), I seem to be the best placed cross dresser. Hooray!

Now admittedly, my suspicion is based solely on a very cursory examination of the photo galleries of my fellow contestants. The girls look very real, but you know how good we are at cloaking when we really try. Nonetheless, I take some pride at currently being placed in the top 400 (#396) of some 6100 ++ entries.

With that said, I am a realist. I am just treading in these fragrant waters, slowly moving forward while being left in the wake of more seriously connected, determined and deserving competition. Which leads to curves part of the post. There are 3 types of curves that I have in mind are relevant to this post.

• Standard Distribution Curves (think of a Bell Curve)
• Power Distribution Curves (think of a curve high at one end, with a steep declining slope), and
• Feminine Curves. Hips, butts and breast that the genetic woman is blessed with that I am not.

Well the Body by Victoria contest is a real power curve. At the top of the curve with nearly 7,000 votes is Casey. No argument, a heart-stirring story, and a women worthy of a weekend of luxury. I truly hope she wins. In 50th place is Jessica with 365 votes. A range of roughly 6,700 votes within one group of 50 entries. In 100th place is Sorayah (159, love the name). This sort of rapidly diminishing gap between fixed data points is called a “scale invariance” and this is what makes a power curve look like it does. Here are the BBV contest rankings plotted out. Not very expertly, but they illustrate the problem, and my newly adopted reality.

While I rank quite highly, I stand absolutely no chance of climbing the steep power curve up to Casey’s admirable heights, no matter how sensible a pair of shoes I chose for the effort. Even with your unfailing, daily and generous support.

But there I am, in the campaign, seemingly unable to bow out to leave the path more clear for more deserving and more curvy contestants. Many of whom, I must say have curves to be envied.

It has been fun though to see my entry on a very slick and graphically compelling web site, especially a site in the VS family. I am a fan of their product and am happy to have been treated respectfully while shopping there, both en femme and in drab. Beyond that little thrill, I will satisfy myself with the purchase of a new Body by Victoria bra sometime between now and the real onset of Autumn. That should help out with my own lamentable curves.

It has also been exciting to note that many of you did throw a little kindness my way. Very much appreciated. And while the delusional dream of winning still danced in my head, it was interesting to consider just exactly what Victoria would do with a cross dresser who won. Cameras and microphones tend to come out for these events. No doubt there would have been a PR headache or 2 along the way, but perhaps this might have been one of those moments that helps those of us still in the shadows to get a little positive daylight.

Perhaps for a younger generation of cross dressers. Here is hoping…

If you have, or if you do enter just for the fun of it, drop a comment here with your profile link, and I promise you a vote in return.

Thanks, happy dressing and everything else…

and PS - the link to vote for Petra remains here...

Shameless self-promotion. Cross Dressers edition

Friends have encouraged me to share some of my secrets. Let me recapitulate here a recent request:

“Petra dear …however did you make your modesty so excellent?”

But wait, there is more:

“Petra Bellejambes, I swear you are so demure that everyone notices. How do you draw attention to your shyness?”

One blushes of course, and labors on. Courage, dear friends, courage … sometimes it is all we have.

And now to the promised (ed. threatened?) self-promotion. It is entirely without shame. Most of us have shopped at Victoria’s Secret. It might not be your very favorite shop, but I have always been treated well there (drab and en femme), and found the garments to be well made. I greatly appreciate too, their tireless, underwired contributions to the general abundance of cleavage visible to those of us who respectfully admire such works of natural feminine beauty.

They are pretty savvy marketers too, and I have fallen prey to one of their traps. I hope to lure you in with me. You see, in their efforts to boost bustlines, and sales, Victoria has created a nice contest around the launch of the new Body by Victoria line of brassieres. The winner will be whisked off to New York for a little weekend of shopping, preening and general luxury. In short, just my idea of fun.

Entry was easy. Provide a picture, and a few words about why one loves ones own body. And so I did. Linked here: http://www.bodybyvictoria.com/#/Gallery/1940.

The winning will be enjoyed by the VS enthusiast whose entry garners the most votes in this very democratic scramble for the goods. Much more civilized, don’t you agree, than the purse-flailing, rib-bruising melee that is the annual Filenes Basement Running of the Brides event.

And so, having put my excellent modesty, and radiant demureness away for a brief moment, I place myself at the mercy of your kindness, dear friend. Please vote for me. It would mean a great deal. I fully expect to see my vote counter dribble up into the high teens, and to watch my hopes crumble again against the sheer, cold, vertical, facetless face of reality, as prettier, and better connected girls run away with what I oddly believe to be my rightful inheritance. But we should at least have this much fun, ne c’est pas?

And think for a moment … if there is some sort of weird cross dressing planetary alignment, and this lingerie enthusiast emerges holding the bouquet, would that not represent a tiny, confident, open and outward step for all of us?

In return, I can promise only a series of gushing blog posts detailing the entire weekend if you put me in the winners 3-way mirror. Brunch at the Plaza. Cocktails at Bemelmans. Full-throated and profanity laced shouts hurled in utter futility at the disappearing taxi --- all the magic that is our Manhattan.

And I do encourage you to enter as well. Pass me a link in this posts comments section if you do. You too, will have my vote. Let us storm the pretty ramparts together, arm in arm, in a mighty clatter of heels, so daintily loud as to ring the very heavens themselves.

Again, that link: http://www.bodybyvictoria.com/#/Gallery/1940.

Progress updates here in the fullness of time my dears.

Thanks in advance, happy dressing, and happy everything else.

Petra’s Pantyhose Parade - Victoria's Secret

If it's Thursday, it must be Pantyhose. I have been busy these last few months scouring the racks of shops fine and less so to greedily purchase, carefully handle, brazenly wear and then haughtily pass judgement on the silky things we sometimes pull up our long legs.

This cross dresser has a thing for hosiery that goes back a long, long way. I distinctly remember a young temptress in my 7th grade class, expertly prowling, preying and feasting on the attention of the opposite and entirely unprepared sex. Advanced of intellect and of physique she weaponized her natural assets one day, donning grown-up sheers when the rest of the girls still sported little-girl leotards. She knew exactly the effect she had on everyone. The girls were mad jealous, the boys were transfixed, and the teacher himself was a little lost, distracted and weakened. Such power in the gossamer yarn.

And as to temptress, I can only imagine the emotional wreckage left in her feminine wake over the decades.

Now, back to my own legs which are presently moored within a pair of Victoria’s Secret Flatter Me Control Tops. Vicky is ubiquitous. Like her or not, you cannot ignore her. Let me describe my relationship with this temptress:

She is flame. I am moth.

Her carefully nurtured brand image is analogous to really good makeup. It has the effect of making everything underneath or within it seem a little more beautiful and valuable than close inspection might reveal.

For this perception, we consumers happily part with a couple of dollars here and there that we might not if we were perfectly rational consumers. Rationality however is not a noted trait of our sorority. With that said, I know that I am far from perfect, but will try to be close to rational.

Taking it from top to toe here is what the legs are telling me. The panty portion is a very high Lycra content shaper whose very functional design still favors fashion and femininity. Fashion, by sitting very surely at or just below the waistline, thereby not running the risk of peeking above skirt top. Femininity, by fusing panty to leg with a fine floral flourish. Entirely unnecessary, and entirely appreciated. Bonus points too, from the very subtle built-in butt lifter. Truly a fine crossdresssers garment in so far as it really smooths out whatever padding you supply to compensate for what nature missed.

Proceeding in a southerly direction to the legs. Just nice. A very sure, tight and yet cool feel on the leg. A sophisticated and dressy matte finish that I find very flattering. I would want just a little lower a Lycra content in the leg (I am only guessing, but it feels like 15% --- sorry --- the packaging went out with the recycling yesterday). The feel therefore lacks a little of the electric X factor that I favor in my hose. Clearly, there are more sheer leggings in the price range. Surely, there are more silky feeling nylons in this price range. I suspect however that Victoria (O I do want to believe that there is a Victoria) made a very rational decision in putting these together and on the shelves. She wanted enough durability in the leg to keep up with and last as long as the sexy Kevlar fortified portion up top. I think she got it, and I don’t mind giving up a little feel for that.

Having now been flattered by the Flatter Me’s, I will return the favor. Without doubt, these are the best fitting pantyhose I have ever worn. A rare 9.5 in this category. Strong Random Merit Points for the panty detail and booty lifting engineering.

At a retail price of $12.50, they earn a laudable 162.1 Petra’s Pantyhose Points to just miss the winners podium. 4th place out of 13 tested models, and a vast prairie of nylon yet to cross. Hanes, Calvin Klein, and Donna Karan remain poised, glimmering and ready to fight off next weeks pretender.

I can’t wait to find out who she is….

Daylight - Part 2

ed. As the title indicates this is a continuance of an earlier post. You can start from scratch here, or pull Daylight - Part 1 up out of the blog archive section below and on your right. I think I will be able to wrap the story up in 3 servings, unless overwhelming negative commentary forces me to reconsider just how I spend my spare waking moments.

I cannot really recall precisely how the day ended. Nor should I. When not en femme, I am nothing if not a gentleman. I was in short supply of everything the next day though. Everything except hope, delirious hope. I was short of breath, short of clear thinking at the office, and short of focus on the homicidal drivers that haunted my drive home. My wife had other distractions on her way home though. She had made a little pit stop of her own accord at Victorias Secret. When I saw the famous pink striped bag I must have gulped air.

The contents were her attempt to gather some things for me that I might wear without feeling too too girly. There was a stretchy pull-on bra top that was as close as Victorias Secret got to sports gear back then. There was a black chemise without lace, stays or garters. I really believe that she was gingerly stepping away from classically, overly feminine styles to keep me in the spirit of helping out with her bosses party. The sweetness was unbearable. And O so absolutely unnecessary.

We spoke a little about what was required of me at the party. She explained what she knew, which wasn’t really very much, but it seemed that the whole evening and the “drag” part of it was designed more for comedy (and likely closer to tragedy) than for fantasy come true. But that little reality was not going to get in the way of some good spirited exploration in the intervening days.

There were lots of pretty things in drawers nearby, and I gamely volunteered myself up and into a waiting pair of pantyhose. While I was able to suppress verbal clues about my delight, other clues about my enthusiasms for the effort were not to be suppressed. Especially in a pair of nude light support hose. And so we discovered a new wrinkle on our time together. I am not sure that I heard the choir of angels sing, and whether it really was a fiery comet streaking the darkening sky but I may have more happily met my maker that night than any other in my life to date.

There were repeat engagements over the course of the week, and wonderful all of them. And gradual admissions on my part that this whole crossdressing thing, it was … well …. interesting. In fact I might be persuaded to try on some other things if she thought that was all well and good.

But one thing at a time. We had a party to attend after all. I was fearful that out in public I would be seen to liking this just too much, that my kink for crossdressing would shine like a beacon. False fear. The look was all camp, no tramp. A completely hideous electric blue Bridesmaid dress, bare legs and white pumps. After the little pageant was over I talked politics and golf with some of the other guests, drinking a beer straight out of the bottle, very butch and natural for maybe 30 minutes, got back into my civilian cloths and blended back into the party. Really nothing to it. I think one of the women did fondle my butt and think I feigned indignation, but things were not going to get out of control out with this public.

In private though, things were poised to get out of control. I felt that I had been waved on, green-lighted and given a passport to pursue this passion, this hidden thing, that had not been shared for long decades. Men are famously self-centered and insensitive creatures though, even those of us with a carefully tended other side. And this, I forgot about myself. If I was not so intoxicated by events, and if I was more sensitive to my surroundings, I may have been bright enough to detect some misgivings on my wife’s part. But you must know that I did not.

I did the next bit of shopping for myself, panties and pantyhose only. I remember justifying the purchase by suggesting that we could save some wear and tear on her things. I snuck in a little private underdressing and squeezed my way into some of the more risqué items in her top drawer. Lingerie rapidly became the fetishistic starters pistol for our moments of intimacy. Yes, the moments were more frequent, but now they were not ours alone.

My wife had a business trip out of town, and I had home to myself for a few days. There was a flurry of shopping. Fredericks, Charlotte Russe, a no-name shoe shop. I had my first little black dress, heels to teeter on, and the beginnings of a feminine shape underneath the outer layers. She came home, and breathlessly, I debuted my full new look without a word of warning, and without any consideration that this mad, wild escalation might somehow not be met warmly and fully anticipated. And before really even saying, “hi honey, how was your day, and can I get you a drink of something?”

Any of you who have been “caught” by significant others or wives (or anyone I suppose) can imagine the look on her face, and some of the questions she was able to pose. And perhaps you can remember or imagine how difficult it is to articulate a complex and nuanced thing with a waist cincher tugging at your stocking tops.

I stammered and blushed and changed. Back in drab, I could only explain that I was not any of the things she feared. I could not explain exactly what I was though. And in so failing, managed to walk out of the daylight I had been so freakishly fortunate to find.

And so now, like last week, I will hit the pause button. Next week I will attempt to conclude the story for you and me both. Observations on this story, or your own story are most welcomed here. Thanks for reading - Petra

Mad Men & Wired Women

Well my shapely friends, you know it seems I am thinking an awful lot about the under things, the foundation garments, the lingerie of late. My prior post about Vintage Lingerie and my friend at Slip of a Girl have got me dreaming of a past I feel a little cheated out of.

Don’t get me wrong, I am happier being a cross dresser in this relatively accepting era than I might have been in the 50’s. And you have to admit that today, cross dressers and genetic girls alike have relatively easy access to genuine vintage fashion (under and outer layers) as well as newly made knock-offs online. And the more I look around the more it occurs to me that I am far, far from alone in my love for these garments.

Go ahead and see for yourself. Google up “vintage lingerie”, or browse around eBay. You might think that half the world is wriggling into a nice open bottom girdle and straightening out the seams of their full fashioned stockings.

As far as more everyday media references go, the television show Mad Men has been the runaway critical and popular hit of the last couple of seasons. Yes, I am persuaded that really good story lines, expert set decoration and a sensitive, subtle examination of the moral ambiguity of Madison Avenue all have something to do with all that. But I swear on my patent Mary Janes that the success of the show more to do with the bullet bras on breathtaking Joan Holloway and the basques on pretty Betty Draper than any of all that.

I spent a little time last night reviewing a discussion thread on Crossdresserclub.com about favorite times in history to be dressed. Hands down, 50's (and early 60's) is the favorite. And for me, all of this is all true and delightful. But the question remains, why? What is the hold that these looks have on us?

Is it pure nostalgia? Or is there something in the restricting materials and the complex fasteners that has intrinsic appeal? And why, o why did a generation throw it all away?

Timing is everything they say. I am not old enough to have been at Woodstock. Nor am I young enough to have been conceived there. By the time I was unbuttoning blouses, fondling flesh and (when no one was looking), fastening a bra on myself for my own private fun, bras were at their worst. Formless triangles built to contain rather than enhance and display the beautiful fruit within. Panties were not much better. Cottony hipsters stripped of lace and conducting none of the warm human electricity that silks and satins do. The Maidenform Woman was nowhere to be seen. 18 Hour Support gave way to 24/7 bounce. Garter belts to pantyhose. Romance gave away to free love.

Liberation was the paramount cultural ideal of the time. And the liberation of the dresser drawers of the nation followed. All progress comes at a price I suppose. But my, what a price.

When did the dark night start ending for you? To me, the late 70’s and early 80’s post-punk fashion sensibility helped things along. Pioneers like Siouxsie Sioux and Debby Harry paved the way for Madonna’s inner-wear as outer-wear displays of the early 90’s. Fishnet stockings, stiletto heels and corsets hit the nightclubs, and sometimes came home with me. Delicious and confounding stuff. I was always stuck between leaving my new friend dressed to be admired, ripping things off in an animal fit, or peeling things gently away hoping to find a way for me to wind up dressed and caressed. I sometimes missed all 3.

In 1994 Eva Herzigova said “hello boys” and re-inflated the long limp Wonderbra brand. The battle for the bust was fully engaged. And way, way out in the open. Not long after Intimate Brands did a public offering and Victoria’s Secret went from a specialty catalog to a retail juggernaut (absolutely no pun intended). And whatever was in the milk or the tap water caused average adolescent cup sizes to swell to epic proportions. Surely I would not have graduated high school had I been there at the turn of our new millennium.

Today, there is more lace. There is more lift. There are more clasps and ribbons and bows. There is more silk and sizzle. And there is a lot more romance. I think all of us are a little better off. Even when we are just admiring ourselves.

How about you? Do you have a favorite vintage piece? Does another era stand out in your fantasies? Where do you go to shop back in time? Do you have a theroy about how we lost our way, and a suggestion about how to ensure that future generations enjoy what we nearly lost? Please leave a comment here, or drop Petra a line anytime.

Happy Dressing, whatever decade you are in…

A Tale of 2 Visits to Victoria's Secret

Over the years I have bought many nice things in stores. Typically in drab. Sometimes for my wife, sometimes for Petra. My shopping was typically cloaked, (like many of you, dear readers) under the pretence of buying that nice thing for my wife.

Now, I do have some advantages. I can pick up a size 6 skirt or a 34C bra and the cashier or the girl on the shop floor could easily reason that, yes, that is likely the size of his wife. And a quick glance at my left hand would add evidence. There is a gold band on the 3rd finger.

And yes, I can fit my skinny butt into a size 6 skirt and hook a 34C bra around my, well, bust if you must. If I weighed another 60 lbs, things would be a little different. I suppose when you are shopping in a Lane Bryant for a size 24 dress, you are kind of giving yourself away. And that's OK. I am not either editorializing or gloating here. Its just the way it is.....

Nonetheless (even when I am legitimately buying something nice for my wife), there is a part of me that wonders …. “Does this nice stranger think this is for me? Did she clock me? And is she just humoring me? Does she deal with crossdressers everyday?”

Well, I did some nice shopping en femme recently, and it gave me encouragement to change the way I shop in drab. Here goes:

Visit # 1

After a superb make up treatment (Thanks R!), I had a little time to kill before the cocktail hour. I popped into Macys, and it was a little bit of a ghost town. Staff said hello. I stopped in intimates, looked at shoes, thought about a couple of dresses, not seriously shopping, but rehearsing shopping. Nothing really stood out, including it seems, Petra. Just another girl in a store.

I strolled out into the mall and was drawn inevitably into Victoria’s Secret. Now the fun begins. The entirely cute and petite Asian girl was envious of my ability to walk in heels. I swear to goodness, I was giving a Ggirl tiny lessons in letting the hips do the work. And there was a terrific promotion in the shop. Spend a minimum of $10.00, and get a gift card with random value --- likely $10.00 but possibly a thousand. How could a girl say no?

The abundance of mirrors and the O so nicely merchandized collections of pretty things were just music to me. Nothing furtive about my browsing. I know I was clocked within seconds by the staff, (and, if I am a realist, by some of the quicker clientele), but no worries at all. In fact, my new friend who can’t walk in heels said that if I wanted to try anything on, I was most welcomed.

Somebody shoot me while I am happy.

The fitting rooms were a little crowded, and really I had the wrong outfit on ( turtleneck dress, a real wig-popper) so a little try before you buy was out of the question. But do you know, the point was, I was fooling nobody (fully) and it just did not matter. Just a guy in a dress.

Just a guy in a dress on a budget too. I really did not want to splash out too much that night, but had to pick something up. Hosiery of course is something you can never have either enough or too much of. So after all the touch and feel, just picked up a pair of superb semi-boarded control tops with a very pretty lace effect at high thigh. Cashed out, got a little spritz of perfume, a nice catalog, a yet to be redeemed gift card and pretty pink bag to walk back out to the car with.

And this really got me thinking. I cannot get out as much as I like to en femme (too many reasons, more on that later). But I do like to prepare for nights (and days) en femme. I do like as well to keep in touch with Petra, and do things for her. Sometimes it is just a visualization exercise. You see a nice look on a real woman, and say to yourself, yeah Petra ought to have that look. And then, maybe you go shopping for that look. In drab.

Visit # 2

So I was in drab yesterday, and my Victoria’s Secret Secret Value gift card was burning a hole in my pocket. Those control tops I mentioned earlier on – fabulous. Really snug around the hips and butt. Nice glossy finish. Yum. So I dropped in.

“Can I help you find something today?”
“Sure, I am looking for hosiery”
“Is this a gift?”
“No, its for me. I wear a size C here”
“OK, just over here…”

And do you know something, there were no flashing red lights, no PA announcements of the presence of a deviant in the store, no women and children shrieking and running away. Just me and the nice girl talking 'bout tights.

“You don’t need the control tops do you? I mean look how skinny you are…”
“Well, I have different parts I need to ... ummm.... well, contain you know… and the padded panties, well they need to be smoothed out a bit too.”
“Really? Well, yeah, I guess that makes sense … oops, hey, I think we are out of the black in C. I like the almost black. Would that work for you?"
"Sure, that will do"
"Do you need anything else today?”
“No, I really just wanted to find out whether my surprise value card is worth $10.00 or whether I like struck gold and got one of the high value ones…”
“Well, I hope you get lucky – check out is just over here...

Nice for the environment too. She did not bother asking me whether I wanted a gift box.

“Do you have a Victoria’s Secret Angel Card?”
“Um, not yet.”
“You really ought to get it. You'll never ever pay full price”
“OK, well I will figure that one out later….”

And so it went.

And so it will go in the future. When I shop for me, I will shop openly. I suspect that some people will just be too unnerved to do their job well. And that is ok. I pretty much expect that I will get terrific service, and will probably meet some nice people just by being a little more honest about it. Perhaps this will help drive down the stigma factor that many of us still fear to one degree or another. And it might just make life a little more interesting for the nice, nice women working in a small handful of shops.

I will keep you posted on how it goes.