Did my Mother know?

his post was triggered by Stana’s post about 'How could she not know'.

When I was living at home I explored my femininity as best as I could by borrowing my mother’s clothes and makeup whenever I had the opportunity. I have related some of my adventures/close calls here under my 'Windows:' posts. Over all those years at home I can’t recollect any panic concerning tearing or ruining of her things, only panic of direct detection and confrontation. Not once did I have the feeling that she ‘knew’ what was going on. We were very close after the early death of my father and I think I would have felt it if she knew what I was getting up to. 

Either I was really really good at leaving no traces or just suppressed them at the moment they occurred (selective erasure). Looking back I just can’t believe I didn’t make mistakes with relocation, lipstick use, and all those little signs that turn up over time and collect into a pattern on one’s radar. 

My conclusion, she must have known, but she hid it well.

vAt my last visit before her death (I didn’t know it was going to be the last visit) we talked about everything under the sun apart from the girl in me. Over the two day visit I wore when possible pantyhose under my jeans, maybe I was trying to tell myself something. 

The whole time it nagged me, but I just did not dare bring up the subject. I was very scared to let it all out in an uncontrolled babble punctured with fits of crying something my boy upbringing wouldn’t allow.. 

At that time there was no Abigale as such. I think now, with her coming of age, blogging and making good friends with similar experiences and their collective constructive support that I could handle such a talk much better and explain myself to her in a way that I hope she would have understood. 

Before Abigale brought things together and handed me a roadmap I didn’t understand myself so how was I to explain ‘me’ to another. Thinking about it, my mother had 40 years of social counselling behind her, she probably had heard it all before anyway! 

I can’t turn back the clock, but I often wish I could.
Sometimes I rehearse the talk with me mum in my mind.
Every time I learn a little more about myself.

Getting ready to go out

his observation was to be a part of another post in preparation, but I thought it would stand on its own. I tend to go off at tangents when writing or talking, this usually leads to a certain amount of confusion on the part of the reader or listener. And when I sporadically have to get up and teach, I observe the whole range from the audience, starting with entertaining through to total bewilderment. This is also reflected in when I’m finished talking. Some people come up to me and we chat further, but the majority just shake their heads and leave in silence. 
I think this behaviour (not the head shaking and leaving in silence) is due to also writing code in various computer languages and my going off at a tangent in the real world equivalent to writing subroutine code.

[Ed: To misquote one Miss Ann Elk “That’s her theory, it is hers, and belongs to her and she own it and what it is too”]

One difference is that with computer code you are automatically returned to the main thread, with my airing’s this is not always the case and even I get lost sometimes. 

[Ed: Hey!]

Oh yes, you see what I mean I was off again. 

I get to dress about 3% of my time and it is usually spontaneous or at very short notice. This is due to being hardy at home and when I’m at home it has to coincide with my wife being at her theatre group or at a film with friends. When the 3% time slot arrives, I start to panic instead of enjoying the chance to “doll myself” up. This is mainly due to getting frustrated trying to remember what I have and where I’ve stashed it! 
This remembering what and where, has to do with my online shopping routine. When the itch gets me, I pull up the bookmarks to the various online shopping stores that cater for my size (see footnote) and log in with my account (not Abigale’s). I browse and sometimes buy, when the article arrivals (everything to my work address), I try it on once (yes, when possible at work when everyone has gone), sigh, sneak it home, pack it lovingly away and in some cases totally forget where and what it was! 

Everything I have is in the cellar, which is big enough for my hobbies and my clothes and shoes (at the moment that is!). As the cellar is a total chaos, the wife tries her best to steer clear of the place apart from the rare occasion she brings me a cuppa (fortunately I get fair warning, so I have time to kick off my heels before she enters). Following delivery she doesn’t just turn around and leave, but backs up in case there’s something lurking around other than myself. I dread the day when I get the ultimatum to clear up and then have to explain the stack of A3 envelope boxes that are ideal for cheap heel storage. 

Where was I? 
Yes, even if I eventually have chosen what to wear and after digging around in the chaos I find it, my dressed phase is about the same amount of time a manikin has to change between cat walks! 

All very frustrating. 

This frustration is part of the reason for my change in attitude to getting dressed and going out with my wife.

[Ed: I was wondering when you would get round to it!] 

Yes I know, but the above has something to do with the below. 

In the pass when we were going out, I would be ready in no time. This was mainly due to an almost non-existent interest in choosing what to wear from a self-inflicted dull and drab boy wardrobe. Being ready way ahead of ETD (Estimated Time of Departure) the waiting game would begin. After a while I would start my recital of groaning and moaning with the classical “we will be late!” or “you had the whole afternoon to choose…” 
Then after what seemed and was ages, she would appear to commence the first round of many presentations with that “look” of helplessness in her eyes. 
Without paying any real attention to what she had on, I would look up and say “perfectly alright, let’s go”. With her built-in feminine voice decoder all she heard was a flat robotic “it will do”, she would then about turn and be off into the gloom. I would then refocus on the game I was playing on my IPad and decide if to take of my coat or sweat a little longer. 
Time would slowly pass, the following rounds all having the same outcome. Eventually I would start feeling somewhat sticky and decide to remove my coat and take a shower too fresh up. On reappearing, she would invariably be wearing again the first costume of the evening. I would get that other “look” with a “come on! What’s keeping you, haven’t you seen the time? Typical!”
I would then throw something on again in record time and we’d be off with yours truly in the dogs and the evening hardy started.. 

Now it’s different, yes different. I can know relate - being sensitised in my own small way to getting dressed as a woman - to what she was going through and I now realise that in the past I was of no help in anyway, just the opposite. These days I get ready as usual, the Ipad is open but instead of a game it’s usually my colour coded Pinterest pin boards of clothes, heels and makeup. I wait and browse thinking about what Abigale would like to have worn that evening given the chance and guts to do it. 
When my wife appears, I am critical but not destructive, ask her to turn around and display, interact using words with more than one syllable, go with her to the wardrobe and browse with her, discuss and take into consideration the weather for the evening, the ambient of the venue, etc. 
Because of this there are fewer “rounds” and we are still invariably late when we leave, but thats ok, the main thing is nobody is in the dog house. 

52/54 EU dresses and slips sometimes 54/56, 43 EU heels (wide fit if possible) and 115C-D bra. Concerning bra size, underwear in general and figure enhancing contraptions - all a science in itself - a separate post will follow.