Persephone
01-08-2010, 12:31 AM
"This must be Thursday," said Arthur to himself, sinking low over his beer, "I never could get the hang of Thursdays."*
Thursday is the day my housekeeper is here. It always begins in chaos as I rush around tidying up for her arrival. Wouldn't want her to find the place a mess you know.
But today was made even more complex by a hair stylist's appointment at 1 p.m.
You see, while my housekeeper and I seem to have a "don't ask, don't tell" sort of policy going, I go to the stylist en femme.
So, after cleaning up for the housekeeper, since I was en drab, I ran a series of en drab errands, going to those places that still know "him" rather than "her."
Arrived back around noon and started to get dressed on one of those rare occasions when I can't just walk out of my house en femme.
Applied my makeup (light foundation, eye shadow, eye liner, mascara, and brow color), a pair of mommy jeans (sorry Karren!) over my panties, bra with no forms, tank top, and sweatshirt, loafers, and a girly watch. Tucked my forms, femme shoes, and jewelry into a sack, told my son who was running a few minutes late to meet me in the car, said "goodbye" to my housekeeper, and went out to finish dressing.
That felt really odd!
My son joined me and we headed off to the salon, where my spouse would be meeting us.
Greeted everyone at the salon (been going there for years). Our stylist cycled through us, doing my hair first, then my son's haircut, then my spouse's hair, and we finished up around 3 p.m.
We decided to have an early dinner, but the restaurant we picked is one where I'm definitely known as "him," so a quick trip home (my housekeeper had already locked up and left), a quick change, and off to dinner.
So far, so good, but now we get to the kicker. When we arrived back home it was still pretty early, so my spouse said, "Why don't we go exercise?"
A fine idea! Only we belong to a women-only exercise center!
Back to the lab, Dr. Jeckyll! Twenty minutes later, back in makeup and full femme exercise garb, we were off to exercise.
Lots of chatting with several of the women there as we all caught up on our holidays, vacations, and the like, along with a serious bout of exercise.
Back in the car, back home, and off with the makeup.
Whew! La vida loca!
*The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy (Douglas Adams), Chapter 2.
Thursday is the day my housekeeper is here. It always begins in chaos as I rush around tidying up for her arrival. Wouldn't want her to find the place a mess you know.
But today was made even more complex by a hair stylist's appointment at 1 p.m.
You see, while my housekeeper and I seem to have a "don't ask, don't tell" sort of policy going, I go to the stylist en femme.
So, after cleaning up for the housekeeper, since I was en drab, I ran a series of en drab errands, going to those places that still know "him" rather than "her."
Arrived back around noon and started to get dressed on one of those rare occasions when I can't just walk out of my house en femme.
Applied my makeup (light foundation, eye shadow, eye liner, mascara, and brow color), a pair of mommy jeans (sorry Karren!) over my panties, bra with no forms, tank top, and sweatshirt, loafers, and a girly watch. Tucked my forms, femme shoes, and jewelry into a sack, told my son who was running a few minutes late to meet me in the car, said "goodbye" to my housekeeper, and went out to finish dressing.
That felt really odd!
My son joined me and we headed off to the salon, where my spouse would be meeting us.
Greeted everyone at the salon (been going there for years). Our stylist cycled through us, doing my hair first, then my son's haircut, then my spouse's hair, and we finished up around 3 p.m.
We decided to have an early dinner, but the restaurant we picked is one where I'm definitely known as "him," so a quick trip home (my housekeeper had already locked up and left), a quick change, and off to dinner.
So far, so good, but now we get to the kicker. When we arrived back home it was still pretty early, so my spouse said, "Why don't we go exercise?"
A fine idea! Only we belong to a women-only exercise center!
Back to the lab, Dr. Jeckyll! Twenty minutes later, back in makeup and full femme exercise garb, we were off to exercise.
Lots of chatting with several of the women there as we all caught up on our holidays, vacations, and the like, along with a serious bout of exercise.
Back in the car, back home, and off with the makeup.
Whew! La vida loca!
*The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy (Douglas Adams), Chapter 2.