"Oh, that's just Ralph. Old Mrs. Harrington's queer drag queen son."
I know that's how I'm known in town. After Mum died I inherited her modest frame cottage in a small Southern Ontario town. I sent all her decent clothes to the Sally Ann (Salvation Army) and everything else, including most of the furniture to the dump. I did keep her jewelry and her mink of course.
Daddy was so proud when he bought her that full length fur. Walking the love of his life to church, the most beautiful lady in town, elegant in her mink. If the expression had existed when I was in high school, my friends would have called her a MILF.
When I do my face, there is a strong resemblance. I should have been her daughter, I just know it.
I work in the city. It's a three quarter hour drive. The people at work just know me as 'Ralph in Accounting.' When I had my apartment in the city I never went out as my alter ego 'Rose' for fear of running into someone from work. But here I've shed my shell. It was scary at first, you know. Now though I hardly think about it. Everyone in this small town just accepts me as I am, a forty two year old lady in a man's body. It's just that kind of community. My friends from high school on the whole are comfortable talking to me,
There, I've said it. I'm five foot four, black hair, slim, brown eyes, pale complexion.
A few years ago I went on a tour of France. I really got into the idea of eating my evening meal after eight. When I get home from work there's lots of time to shower and dress. Fridays I go do the grocery shopping at the supermarket by the freeway.
So, I was wearing a knee length long sleeve dress, dark blue with a grid of tiny white dots, two inch round toe heels and diamond stud earrings. It's early December, so my mink. I'm in the cereal aisle and the big boxes of raisin bran are way up on the top shelf.
"Here, let e get that for you."
Oh my. He must be six feet tall. Drop dead gorgeous blue eyes, perfectly cut light brown hair. He's wearing an open khaki canvas trench coat over a dark grey suit and white shirt with a dark blue tie. On his feet are polished broughams.
"There you go miss."
"Why thank you, sir."
Awkward silence for a moment.
"Hello, my name is Lance, by the way."
Even his name is sexy hunk.
"Rose." I'm blushing. "Nice to meet you."
"Rose. Pretty name. Do you live here."
"Yes, and you?" Why have I never seen him in town?
"No. I work in (same city I do), and live in (city a few kilometers south of the freeway). I just thought I'd stop and check out this new supermarket. Nice, isn't it?"
"Yes. I like the fresh fruit selection they have."
"Yes. Well, nice meeting you, Rose."
"Yes, you too. And," I point at the raisin bran,"thanks for that."
I finish shopping. There's Lance at the end of the line at checkout seven.
