"Yeah," quipped the other one, "why are you all dolled up that way?”

I wished I were dead. I was so embarrassed and flustered that I couldn't even speak for a few minutes. They insisted on knowing, so I told them that I dressed this way quite often. I begged them not to say anything about this. They, too, promised they would keep my secret, but started calling me "Vivian” instead of "V.J.” As they left, one of them told me that as long as I was going to dress like a girl, I should at least try to look like one, too. I asked him what he meant and he told me that I had done a lousy job of applying my makeup. What a let down that was — after I thought I had done such a good job.

I told my friend Jim about the "incident”. He laughed and told me his sister was a beauty operator. He called her at home and explained that he had a friend who was going to become a female impersonator and needed a lot of help learning to put on makeup and would she help him? She agreed and Jim hung up. He gave me her home address and told me to be there at seven o'clock the next evening.

His sister was awfully nice and seemed to think there was nothing wrong in my wanting to be a female impersonator, although she did think it was a kooky way to make a living. I never told her that the impersona- tion bit was her brother's idea and not mine. The thought had never entered my mind until he had mentioned it to her. She insisted that from now on, I come dressed as a girl as she felt silly teaching a man to put on mascara, etc. She also permanently removed my rather sparse beard. Her lessons were spread over several months, and I became very proficient in the art of makeup and wig styling.

One evening, I called my classmate who had told me to look more like a girl, and invited him to meet me at a Pizza Parlor (one with rather dim lighting). I arrived early and secluded myself in a booth in the rear of the room. He walked by twice before he recognized me. He sat down opposite me, and grinning, said “Vivian, you look terrific! I'd never have guessed you weren't a real girl.” I thanked him for the compliment and told him I had only taken his advice. I then proceeded to buy the beer and pizza for us. I felt that I had indeed "graduated" that night. My formal grad- uation from the University a month later was strictly anti-climactic.

I loafed that summer and in the fall started working towards my Master's Degree in Chemistry. Everyone knew that after I reveived my PhD, I was going to become a research chemist; but I neglected to tell most people what kind of research I'd be doing. There was one sadly

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