My Journey to Womanhood

This photo started it all. A good friend of mine superimposed my head on the author Nora Robert’s body. I had made mention that I admired her website and wanted to duplicate it.  Not her body, just the website functionality.  This is how a technology wise guy armed with Photoshop can ruin your life.

So in good humor, or tasteless, whichever you prefer here is my story of the journey to womanhood.  It is very reminiscent of the story of Dante’s journey through hell. My parents admit to not truly wanting a boy as they didn’t know what to do with a boy.  While in high school I had very long wavy thick hair.  My mother once teased me that she should have named me “Edwina” with all that hair.  She was just jealous of that hair as are all women.    I recall watching Monty Python and all the actors dressing up as women and attempting to speak and act like women.

Now as I entered college I gained 50 pounds in six months, not fat, but pure muscle.  Once, I had massive pectorals that were hard and firm without the assistance of a bra or silicon.  I was naturally perky.  Only now in my early 50’s would I need an over the shoulder bolder holder.  They are sagging unfortunately as Mother time and gravity are working against me.  Yes, I have man breasts.

My wife insists I need a pedicure.  I have already succumbed to full body massages and I attend a salon for styling my hair, when I should be going to “Sports Cut.”  Slowly but surely my male identity is being lost.  Then my technology guy piles on for 15 yard unsportsmanlike penalty. I was a laughing stock and my emotions were rocked to the core.  I cried and cried and cried.  I pulled out a box of tissues and sat down to watch Twilight. I needed an Edward to make me feel special.  Wait a minute…. I am Edward. I digress as usual.

Last Halloween I bought the Hottie Scottie outfit which is more of a skirt than anything else.  I learned the Salsa faster than my wife.  Oh my god! My conversion was almost there. Yet as I took a shower and faced the mirror I realized the “thing” that made me a man was still there.  All the attempts by my friends and relatives to turn me into a woman were utterly defeated.  I celebrated by running nude around the house and doing a victory dance.  I knew I had won, because my wife didn’t want to sit me down for a chat, her only comment was: “Get dressed the lawn needs mowing.”

I had made it back through the nine levels of female hell, back into the simple world of being a manly man, with man breasts.  Hey, I can live with it.