Transvestia

"Oh, that's better," she exclaimed. "Now give me some help for a few minutes, and then we'll think about some lunch."

Help involved folding sheets, taking a bag or garbage across ten feet of visible territory, running the vacuum, putting a load in the washer. Having spent many a day with her, I was pretty familiar with all that had to be done.

"Now," she said, "let's talk about lunch."

"I'll help," I offered.

"I'm thinking," she mused, "I'm thinking we just might be able to go downtown."

"Not like this," I said, dismayed.

"I'm thinking we might. Wouldn't it be fun?”

"Oh, no!"

"I think I've still got that hat, and white socks and gloves. Come on, let's see."

"Aunt Helen, no!"

"Hey, where's your spirit? Have they knocked all of it out of you?"

"Everybody'd think I was a girl."

"That's the whole idea! Think what fun. Put one over on your father, too. He thinks you're home crying in your room."

"I wouldn't want them to.”

"Not forever. Just for the afternoon. Like going to a Hallowe'en party. I think we could have a lot of fun. The question is do I have that hat?"

"No."

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