RANSVESTIA

struck. I told the committee it was arranged and I knew a store that would sponsor the show. A neighbor of ours ran a smart women's store and had a great deal of experience in fashion show planning and commentary. She agreed to do the show and supply the clothes for the girls. However she said we boys would have to find our own. My wife finally believed that the whole thing wasn't my idea, which in this case, surprisingly, it wasn't.

Again it was back to Beth and a friend of my wife's who wore a size 20 for clothes. Great success!

The dinner and dance was at one of the local country clubs. We had a large dining room on the main floor but the dressing rooms for the show were on the second floor. We had to parade through the main lobby and up a long winding staircase and down a short hall for every change-three in all. This took a little of the wind out of my sails. The club was full of regular members.

The other "male model," much smaller than me, was simply given a stage name to go with the descriptions of his outfits-nor was he as convincing a "woman." Because I certainly wasn't a size 10 or 14 I was introduced as a "large size model to prove the fuller figured woman can be smart and chic."

The show got underway. My fellow "impersonator" was third out and hammed it up to laughter and good natured applause. I was sixth in the sportswear number in a beautiful heavy wool brown plaid suit and the brown alligator pumps. The suitcoat was worn over my slip and there was a fair expanse of shaved chest with a gold pendant moving easily as I walked and turned. Voices from the women in the audience commented quietly on what a beautiful suit it was and I walked off to the normal amount of applause for the outfit. No recog- nition at all.

We changed to afternoon dresses. Mine was a pale blue wool tweed with navy trim at the neck, hem and cuffs that fitted like a glove. Black suede shoes, black gloves and bag. Down the floor with a turn half way and on down to the end; stopped, turned and across the base of the "U" turned again and up the other side past my own table. From one of the girls at my table: "Who is she? I don't recognize her at all." I stopped, turned and winked at her husband and then grinned. "Good God, it's Bob," said the other girl, "he's fantastic." Both of the men laughed out loud. As we had suggested, they hadn't