RANSVESTIA

As I walked beside her I suddenly said, “You're real, aren't you? I mean, you look considerably different from last night."

"I might say the same thing about you," she replied. “Am I real — real what? Are you 'real"?"

“Listen," I said, "I'm beginning to have doubts about everybody.”

Her Highness (Majesty? Grace?) left me sitting in Wendell's living room while she went "to put on something more comfortable." I sat there with the unmistakeable feeling that somehow someone had shuf- fled the script and got it mixed up with the late late show, but presumably Wendell was directing the show so it must have some sort of logical

—

certainly. Logical I had my

outcome. Check that an outcome doubts. Take the Prince / Princess of Saxe-Gotheburg, Heir Manifest to the Twin Crowns. Looking for a bride so he / she could become King – well, the mindboggles, sir, actually boggles. The evening before I had met a reasonably distinguished young man, personable, but correct (in the European sense; that is, almost a stuffed shirt.) This afternoon the young man shows up in my backyard wearing a two piece bathing suit and even now comes back into the living room wearing a pink dress. Wouldn't you boggle, sir or madam as the case may be? (You'll notice I no longer take chances with anyone.)

"An astonishing metamorphosis." The Princess wasn't the raving beauty kind, you'll understand, but wasn't ugly either. She was a bit on the tall side, with a certain solidness to her that was tempered by a cer- tain grace as well. Litheness. I couldn't help feeling that she was more used to wearing her Prince-suit than this dress. A certain lack of definite- ness in handling her hemline as she sat down, a certain unhandiness about her hands as if she wasn't quite sure about them.

"Well, you're wondering what it's all about, aren't you?" she began.

"Yes. But may I interrupt — not for too long — you know you're sup- posed to be missing."

"That's being taken care of," she said.

"Wendell?”

"Uh

- yes."