About 1 AM Thursday, I decided to stop celebrating the Red Sox World Championship and get some beauty rest (can't get enough of that) because I planned to go to work en femme in the morning.
I woke up about 15 minutes before my alarm clock, got out of bed, fed the pets, shaved, showered and began doing my makeup. Putting on my face took about 30 minutes and putting on my clothes took about ten.
I wore my black Ellen Tracy dress with the sequins pattern at the neckline, nude thigh-high hosiery, "Love Fury" black patent platform pumps from Nine West, black Maskowsy bag and silver jewelry (Avon watch, Napier earrings and bracelet). It was about 40 degrees Fahrenheit outdoors, so I also wore my black DressBarn sweater coat (note to self: fix the loose button on the coat before you lose it).
I will mention my unmentionables because some people want to know: Victoria's Secret black lace brief panties and "Bombshell" bra, a waist cincher that is so old that the brand name tag is unreadable and I don't remember the brand, and a Bali Spanx-clone cami to smooth out my torso.
I fetched the newspapers and brought them in the house, which required walking up and down a 125-foot paved driveway in 4-1/2-inch heels while trying to negotiate the cracks and pivots in the pavement in semi-darkness. Who needs coffee to wake up! I completed the trip without incident.
I drove to work arriving at 7:50 AM. I drove standard transmission wearing my platform pumps with their 4-1/2-inch heels even though I had brought along a pair of sensible shoes just in case. I wore the platform pumps all day long and also drove home wearing them; my feet were none the worse at the end of the day.
Since my previous appearance at work en femme last Halloween, we have hired only one new person, our receptionist. When I pulled into the parking lot, she had just arrived and was getting out of her car. When she saw my car, she waved. There would be no fooling her, but she was very impressed with my femulation and admitted that if she had not seen my car, she would not have recognized me.
I unloaded my computer bag and handbag at my desk and went to the ladies' room to check my hair and makeup. All was well, so I walked down the hall to visit the head of my department. She thought I looked great and liked my new wig better than the one I wore last year. She took some photos and another employee took a photo of the two of us standing side-by-side.
My boss was wearing a very nice figure-hugging dress and joked about me wearing a dress, too (she knows I am transgender). While she was talking to me, she adjusted her underwear, which made an audible snap as she did. Was she wearing Spanx and more importantly, was she so comfortable with me as just another female that she felt free to do that? In response, I adjusted my Spanx-clone cami and it made a similar snapping sound. She began laughing hysterically after I did that.
In my rush to get ready for work, I forgot to bring a yogurt from home which I normally eat as I work through my overnight e-mails. So I went to the cafeteria which my company shares with another company next door. I encountered a handful of young people from the other company and no one paid me any mind.
I had not been in that cafeteria in years and the cash register was not where it used to be, so I asked a young man where it was and he responded to me as if he was talking to a lady, not another guy, that is, he was very respectful and spoke as if he was helping a lady in distress. It was very nice.
The morning went by quickly. Various co-workers stopped by to see my costume. Gals and guys alike said I looked great. And some of them also wore costumes, but I was the only boy in girl costume.
The vice president of engineering came by and said he is always amazed by my transformation. "I don't know how you do it," he remarked.
The president of my division passed by and greeted me by my female nickname, Sandy, which my former boss had dubbed me last Halloween in honor of the hurricane.
Some other co-workers who I encountered during the day, just said "Good morning, Stan" and did not mention my costume.
My best friend at work, another diehard Red Sox fan, stopped by to celebrate our World Series victory and remarked that I looked "very pretty."
During my lunch hour, I drove to the dry cleaner to pick up my dress. The fellow who waited on me when I left the dress earlier in the week was not around and a young woman waited on me. She asked me if I was picking up and I said I was picking up my dress.
She took my receipt, fetched the dress and I paid her. She was pleasant and I could not tell if she suspected anything about my gender.
Next stop was Stop & Shop to pick up some groceries. As I pushed my shopping cart into the store, a woman older than me gave me the once over. She had a husband in tow and I figure she was wondering how my outfit would look on him.
A few other women and a few guys also checked me out while I was shopping. No one smiled or smirked knowingly, so they were either impressed, seen it before or thought I was overdressed for Stop & Shop.
Actually, during lunch hour, there are always other women in the store dressed like me. There are corporate parks and medical offices nearby that are full of women dressed like me who buy groceries during lunch hour. In fact, I saw a young woman in very high heels wearing a flouncy skirted dress that I would die for. I was tempted to ask her where she bought the dress, but she was heading out the exit.
I did ask a middle-aged women where she bought the Red Sox World Championship sweatshirt she was wearing. She pointed out to me that it was an old shirt from the 2007 World Championship, not this year's, but that she hoped to get a new World Championship shirt soon.
I finished shopping and found a cash register without a line. The cashier was a woman who I had cashed out with before. In the past when I cashed out in boy mode, she was cold, efficient and business-like. On Thursday when I cashed out in girl mode, she was as friendly as can be!
I returned to work, ate lunch, and noticed that the lack of sleep was starting to catch up with me. The afternoon went by slowly and ended with an interesting encounter.
One of our lab technicians walked by my cubicle slowly checking me out as she passed by. Then she turned around and did it again in the opposite direction. Obviously, someone had told her to find my cubicle and check me out. She then studied the name plate outside my cubicle and asked, "Are you Stan?"
I said, "Yes."
She looked confused. So I switched eyeglasses from my readers to the bifocals she was more likely to see me wearing.
She said, "I still don't recognize you!"
It was time to go home, but I did not want the day to end because this was the way it was meant to be.
Actors femulating in the 2013 stage production of Re-Designing Women.
Wearing Vivienne Westwood Anglomania (left) and Raoul (right).