RANSVESTIA

pressed amazement at her memory. As she rattled on about her life in "the old country" where "everybody know everybody in my village," I was struck by the warmth of her open personality and began to feel pangs of guilt about my deception. How could I lie to such a sweet old lady?

Handing her the long skirt, I explained the problem, that the waist was a little too large and that I would like it reduced to 31 inches. For some reason, I chose not to mention that it was for my wife.

She poked about it here and there in her professional way, finally looking up and concluding, "Is easy to do. But is better if your wife is here for fitting."

In a split second, I made a decision. "It's for me," I said.

There was a pause.

She looked up at me, "You be boy-girl?"

Initially, I had planned to tell her that I was involved in a play and had to take care of getting my own costume, but because of the rela- tive calm manner in which she asked her question, I made up my mind to go all the way and see what would happen.

My heart was beating a little faster and I tried to sound casual as I began. "There are times when I would rather wear skirts and dresses when I'm at home. I feel better."

"Then you be 'sometime' boy-girl," she said with a faint trace of what I took as an understanding smile.

Her attitude encouraged me somewhat and I could feel some of the flush leaving my face.

"You know others?" I asked.

"By my village in old country long time ago is very pretty little boy-girl. He cry all the time unless his mama let him wear dress, so, what could she do? Papa dead in coal mine. She have two other daughters, so she stop make him clothes and all share same things."

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