Oh no I shouldn't post this during the Holiday season.
I'm a very sensible woman. High IQ, probably in the 20's, no not 120; 20.
I've tried to burn the house down with my microwave - pre transition cross dressed and the full fire brigade arriving. Had my mop arrested for being a peeping Tom.
I only say this for clarity and for the sake of my evil friends.
I have long hair. Lovely and lush and I like it straight, so I use a hair iron.
There I was getting ready for my date. Showered dressed and cool (pun intended). As usual at home I had my front door open and the screen door closed (it is Australia and we try and get cool air when we can). My next door neighbour is mowing his lawn, cute guy, called John for some reason.
I sit at my dressing table and start my hair, spray on the heat protectant and start combing with my hair.
Listening to Jimi Hendrix; All Along the Watch Tower, rocking along. Feeling good and then
The hair iron gets caught in the back of my dress, I lose my grip, burning flesh, agony, screams.
The door opens, John runs in, grabs me, and next thing my head is under a cold shower. I'm soaked, my dress is ruined, I look like the mop that had the previous run in with the law.
I thank him, for some misguided reason. He is laughing.
I recover, dry off, get dressed again. Sitting in my bra and pants, I start my make up and hair - I still have time to go out.
No power.
The cut out switch has been triggered.
OK, no problem.
I run out in the front garden to turn the switch back on. (it will take seconds)
The door slams shut.
Thank you god. I knew there was a reason I gave up religion.
Now I'm having a glass of whiskey, wearing my pyjamas, sore back, lousy hair. No date. And laughter from the neighbours.
And a curious John.
Have a happy Thanksgiving people!!
Cindy
<Now I need to fold the sheep>
