Someday Funnies - 3/1/25

Boys or Girls?

Love is not always a two-way street!

I love wearing high heels, but some high heels don’t love me. So I asked Google AI how to prepare my feet for my next pair of pumps. Here is what Google offered on the subject.

To prepare your feet for high heels, ensure your toenails are trimmed properly, address any foot issues like bunions or callouses, wear comfortable flat shoes beforehand, stretch your feet regularly, consider using shoe stretchers to widen the fit, opt for heels with a thicker base for stability and always break in new heels before wearing them for extended periods. 

Key steps:

Foot care: Trim toenails, treat any ingrown nails and remove calluses or corns. 

Pre-wearing routine: Wear comfortable flat shoes for a while before putting on heels. 

Stretching exercises: Perform foot stretches to improve flexibility and range of motion. 

Choose the right heels: Opt for heels with a thicker base for better balance and stability. 

Shoe fitting: Ensure the heels fit properly and aren’t too tight. 

Shoe stretchers: Use shoe stretchers to widen the shoe if necessary. 

Break-in period: Wear new heels for short periods at first to gradually adjust your feet. 

Insoles and cushions: Consider adding insoles or heel cushions for extra comfort.

Having worn high heels for over 60 years, I knew most of what the AI recommended, but I did learn a thing or two, too. 

Wearing Sachin & Babi

Suzy née Eddie Izzard

Hard Work

My wife often comments that since it takes so long for me to get ready to go out as a woman, is it worth it?

Of course, it is worth it (what a silly question), but she does make a legitimate observation, i.e., it does take me a long time to get ready.

My excuse is that I am obsessive compulsive. According to Wikipedia , "The phrase "obsessive-compulsive" has worked its way into the wider English lexicon, and is often used in an offhand manner to describe someone who is meticulous or absorbed in a cause. Such casual references should not be confused with obsessive-compulsive disorder…" (So, I'm not nuts, just a little crazy!)

As a result, when I go out as a woman, I want to look as perfect as possible, which means flawless makeup and not a hair showing that should not be showing.

I love putting on makeup and if I have the time, I indulge myself in the makeup process and can while away an hour or so putting on the war paint. But usually I don't have the time and I must get the job done as quickly as possible.

After years of practice, I have my makeup routine down to about 35 minutes if everything goes smoothly. I see no way of reducing that time without cutting corners and I refuse to cut corners, so I invest 35 minutes putting on my face.

The actual dressing is the easy part. I usually have my outfit picked out beforehand and I can have it on from soup to nuts, or should I say from girdle to wig in 15 minutes or less.

The wig I wear these days is a "shake and bake" wig. I just shake it out, put it on my head, make a few adjustments, and I'm done. I use self-stick pre-glued nails and they go on in less than five minutes with no muss or fuss. So, once my makeup is on, I can be out the door in less than a half hour.

Now the part I hate: hair depilation.

I am hairy. It is everywhere and depending on what I plan to wear, it can take 30 minutes to an hour just to get rid of it all.

I have long legs and they used to take some time to depilate. But over the years, I have depilated them so many times that new hair growth is sparse and now it only takes a few minutes to do my legs.

If I wear anything other than a long sleeved dress or top, then I have to depilate my arms. If I am wearing anything that exposes my shoulders, then they must be depilated, too. And so it goes for my chest and back if I am wearing anything that is low-cut in the front or back. Shaving my face is a joy in comparison.

When I come face-to-face with my hairy problem, I start thinking that my wife might be right, is it worth it?

Yes, it's hard work, but I still think it is worth every minute of it.

Wearing Chiara Boni

Ted Wass femulating in the 1983 film Curse of the Pink Panther.

Patterns

Saturday morning, I stopped by my sister's apartment to drop off her Avon order and found her going through a box of stuff from my mother's apartment. (Mom died years ago, but only recently has my sister begun going through Mom's stuff.)

"Here – this is yours," my sister said to me and handed me a stuffed manilla envelope.

"What is it?" I asked.

I opened the envelope and withdrew its contents: five old dress patterns for styles from the mid- to late-1960s.

"What do you mean these are mine?" I asked.

"Mommy bought them to make dresses for you," she explained.

"Huh!"

"She even made one dress for you – this one," she said, as she pointed to one of the patterns I held in my hands.

"She was going to give it to you as a birthday gift. But then she changed her mind because she didn't want to embarrass you."

(Note that although my sister and I are very close, she does not support me much on the trans front.)

"So, she knew," I replied.

"Dad knew, too, and he talked her out of giving the dress to you."

I always suspected that my parents knew and now my suspicions were confirmed.

"Wow! What happened to the dress?" I asked.

"I have no idea," my sister replied, "Let's change the subject."

I don't know what was the next subject because my mind was still on the dress my mother made for me and how my life might have been different if I had only confided in her.

(Caveat Emptor. This is a rerun of an old Femulate post about an event I had completely forgotten about in my old age.)

Wearing Eloquii

Rob Stone femulating in a 1989 episode of television’s Mr. Belvedere. Watch it here.

Halloween Washout

(Updated Below) I had no plans for Halloween.

Nothing was going on at my former workplace, so there was no reason to go there. And the weather was supposed to be lousy ("Chance of precipitation is 90%”). I did not feel like going out just to be out and have to dodge rain showers while dressed pretty. So my only Halloween plans were to distribute candy to the trick or treaters. (Last year, only two trick or treaters showed up and as luck would have it, they were crossdressed!)

I did have one non-Halloween task to complete from my list of housewife chores: grocery shopping. While I was perusing the shopping list that my spouse had composed, it occurred to me that I could do my grocery shopping as a housewife dressed appropriately for Aldi and Stop & Shop.

The weather forecast sounded better for the morning, than the afternoon, so I planned to get up early and get out of the house as early as possible. To make that possible, I prepared as much as possible Wednesday evening, but it was all a waste of time.

The weather forecast did not do the weather justice. It was so bad that I considered not shopping for groceries at all. But mid-morning, there was a calm period and I made the grocery run in boy mode. The break in the storm was very brief and I was very damp by the time I returned home 90 minutes later.

By the way, I saw only one person in costume (a female employee at Stop & Shop), so I think the weather put a real damper on Halloween and I don’t expect a big turnout of trick or treaters this evening.

UPDATE: The bad weather persisted throughout the day and night. As a result, not a living soul showed up to collect candy, but some non-living souls may have showed up after we went to bed because some of the candy was missing Friday morning!

Wearing Veronica Beard

Dave Foley plays Dave Nelson on television’s NewsRadio attending the office Halloween party en femme.

Zero to 60... in the wrong body

By Paula Gaikowski, Femulate Contributing Editor

Turning 60 this year has led to a lot of self-reflection. Anyone who is transgender knows many a night is spent laying awake at 3 AM wondering, imagining and wool-gathering over our mysterious puzzle.

A few nights ago, I found myself tracing the progression and struggle of Paula from an early age to now.

Some transgender persons come to the realization later in life. For me, I always wanted to be a girl. As soon as I knew the difference, I wanted to be over there.

I remember the first day of kindergarten, the boys and girls were separated into two lines with the girls all in pretty dresses and shoes. I was so envious.

Those early memories continued and at 6 or 7, I remember going to a Halloween party where there was a girl in a beautiful party dress.

I asked, “What’s your costume?”

“I am a girl,” the little boy replied. Stunned at the realization that this was a boy, I could not take my eyes off him as he ran around the room that night in a pink dress with crinolines, tights and Mary Janes.

Perhaps if I couldn’t be a girl, I could at least dress like one.

Next came the start of crossdressing and a more intense desire to be a girl.

During my first Holy Communion, the church was filled with 1st grade boys and girls — the boys in white suit jackets and the girls in beautiful white satin and lace dresses with veils. I was captivated and a few weeks later, I found my sister’s communion dress and tried it on. It became a favorite until I outgrew it.

I remember sitting in Mrs. Carlson’s 2nd grade classroom and wondering what it felt like to wear the tights that most girls wore. I started raiding my sister’s and mother’s closets trying on tights and any other dress or skirt I could find that fit. When I think back, this wasn’t something I did on occasion — I did this two or three times a week. This continued and by the time I was 11 years old, I had graduated to lingerie, pantyhose, high heels and make-up.

Through middle school and high school, I continued to crossdress on a very regular basis. After school from 3:15 to 5:00, it was all-clear to play girl to my heart’s content. I would often try to mimic styles and fashions that I had seen during the week in school. I became an expert putting things back the way I found them. However, as a parent myself now, I think they must have known.

During high school, I would read anything I could find written about “sex changes.” In a garage sale, I found an autobiography of Christine Jorgensen that I read in secret. I would scan newspapers and magazines for mentions of crossdressers or transsexuals. At 15 or 16, when others were making career plans, I was taking a sex change into account. Everything I read told me that surgery would cost several thousand dollars.

The Air Force solved many problems for me. It got me out of the house and gave me a chance to save enough money for a sex change. Yes, no kidding, that was my thought process at that age. That’s why I’ve written that in today’s environment, transition would have been a certainty.

So off I flew into the wild blue yonder. Basic training was difficult not because I was transgender but because I was naïve and lazy. Then off to technical school in Biloxi, Mississippi. Then to Germany, with a follow-on tour to Andrews Air Force Base. The whole process was good for me as I matured, traveled and gained technical experience.

These are typically the years when a person’s sexuality matures. I knew I was transgender; however, I was also fearful of being gay because of the hatefulness and disapproval for gay people around me.
I was captivated by women. A pretty girl would always catch my eye. Thank God, I’m not gay. How could I be when I felt that way about women.

I made the mistake of confusing admiration and envy, with lust and sexual desire. Here are a few examples of how this manifested itself during the four years I was in the Air Force. There wasn’t any shortage of the guys going out to strip clubs and brothels that surrounded most military bases in Germany. I can remember feeling so uncomfortable for the women in these strip clubs, I wanted to rescue them not lust after them.

I would accompany my friends to the brothels in Frankfurt and finally, I acquiesced and decided to lose my virginity one night. I was trying to prove something. I remember the beautiful young woman very well and once inside I could not do it. I gave her extra money to wait out my time and then make a great show of it to my friends waiting outside.

I was very good at making friends with and talking with women, but I would never close the deal so to speak. This happened all the time, talking, flirting, nothing. I never would make a move, ask her out, hold her hand or kiss her. Looking back now, I believe it was due to my instinct as a female deep down inside. I just didn’t get the male-female mating ritual. I wasn’t programed like the other guys.
I could list several examples, but for sake of brevity let me tell one. I worked in a communications control center and on days off, I would head to Shenandoah National Park where I would camp and hike. I worked with Rita, a girl from upstate New York who also loved the outdoors. We hit it off well and talked about camping, hiking and kayaking in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

I missed all the clues that she was sending because I was surprised to see her ride up to the campsite on her motorcycle. Long story short, dinner, a few beers by the campfire and lights out in the tent with her on one side and me, the gentlemen on the other. This is how oblivious I was! It never dawned on me she was there to hook up. A few months later, she asked why I hadn’t done anything that night. My answer “I dunno” and I really didn’t know.

Just before I got out of the Air Force, I had this bizarre affair with a lesbian who I worked with. She and I were heavy drinkers and partiers at the time and would often wind up in bed. Nothing ever happened, but I had a big-time crush on her. We would sleep together several nights a week and yes, just sleep. I realize now she was using me as cover — back then, if you were gay you were out of the military and they actively looked for and prosecuted gay persons.

Now it’s 1981 and I’m back home in New Jersey. I find a job at a computer company. My first paycheck comes. I cash it and go to the Willow Brook mall and buy a dress, shoes, hosiery and lingerie. All too small, so I purged.

My life began to revolve around work, drinking and hunting with my redneck buddies. I hardly even thought about being a girl. At work, I met my future wife. We talk, flirt and again nothing. We talk, we flirt and she calls me. Boom — we are off and running. She lets me wear her bra one night and she even buys me some lingerie — WOW!

This is perfect. I’m in love. We marry and off we go. However, what I thought was approval turned out to be tepid toleration. For a number of years, we would go forward and then backward. A few months of encouragement would then be met with resentment

Just to emphasize how strong my dysphoria was, I remember the morning of my wedding, being a bit melancholy, thinking well this means I’ll never be a woman.

A wonderful marriage, family, career, home, it was all there except for this one little problem of gender dysphoria. There were periods where depression would bury me. I kept myself busy with career, home maintenance, church, non-profits, elderly parents and child care.

Still, as I did when I was 8 years old, I would seek refuge, a few taboo moments of sanctuary dressed as a woman. When keeping busy didn’t work, overeating and drinking were brought in to cloud the ache.

Isolated, confused, and trans, I would sometimes stop and buy Drag magazine. I would read it hidden away in the back of a New York City deli or sometimes take my lunch on a bench near Trinity Church in the shadow of the twin towers. In relative anonymity, I would enter into a world where there were others like me.

In the mid 1990’s, along came the Internet and with it, a connection to a community and finally, information and answers. My world began to open up.

My crossdressing became an unspoken truth in our marriage, seldom directly addressed and sometimes talked about disparagingly. Don’t ask, don’t tell became the model for dealing with the issue. In my late 40’s, I entered a dark period sinking into deep depression along with anxiety attacks.

When I hit 50, I was overweight, drinking too much and in bad health. Finding an objective and informed person, you can discuss, share and solve your issues, which was a key ingredient in my journey. In my case, this was Dr D. I no longer saw being transgender as a problem to be solved. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I cast off society’s condemnation of being transgender and realized that I am a good person and that part of my personality and character involves being transgender. Attributes I see missing in many men, such as nurturing, kindness, compassion and cooperation are parts of my personality that I believe come from my feminine side.

Through the years, I had worked so hard and sacrificed so many things for so many people in my life. Now at 50, the one thing I wanted most, the one thing that had nagged at me since childhood was going to be left unanswered. I could not do it. I could not let it go. I needed to express that woman who I knew lived inside me. I may never transition, but I needed to experience the world as a woman in some way.

In 2009, I was emerging from the darkness of yet another crossdressing purge. But as any transgender person knows, purging doesn’t work. My need for feminine expression had returned with a vengeance. I had once again accumulated a wardrobe and around this time, I started traveling for business. I started going to M·A·C stores and found acceptance and support.

Next, I started shopping for clothes while I was in drab and I was surprised to find that the sales associates were enthusiastic and supportive when I told them I was transgender. City after city, I began to accumulate everything I needed.

Finally, in Memphis after visiting Graceland, I saw it in a strip mall a store named Graceland Wigs. The last piece I needed was a wig. With my new-found confidence, I entered the store and was overwhelmed by hundred of wigs lining the walls. After a few minutes of awkward browsing I came clean with the store owner and was soon sitting in a chair in front of a mirror trying on wigs and telling her my story. She was a bit of a character and after about two hours trying on dozens of wigs, I left the store with advice earned through a lifetime of hardship, an overabundance of amusing anecdotes, guidance on being a woman and a cute pageboy style brunette wig.

A few weeks later, I would step out of my hotel room in Denver and not look back. For the next eight years, I would travel all over the country and the world and during my free time, I would explore the world as a woman. I would shop, get M·A·C makeovers, meet friends for dinner, attend a transgender conference, visit the doctor, attend concerts and visit museums. I would go out as a woman in the UK, Canada and Australia. It was also during this time I started writing for Femulate. Those were glorious times and I began to feel somewhat fulfilled.

In 2016, I began having trouble with my back and it became chronic. I began to overeat and drink. The weight came on and the pain grew worse. I stopped dressing. I entered into a dark period with pain and along with it, a sense of despair and hopelessness.

In 2019, post-surgery, I am now coming back. I am eating healthy and I’m off sugar and junk foods. My back feels great and I started building back my wardrobe. I’m writing for Femulate again and feel a sense of renewal and hope. Where the next few years lead? Who knows? But Paula will be there.
That’s my story — the evolution of a human who is transgender. How I dealt with it and how I continue to deal with it.

Keep reading.

Wearing Rachel Zoe

Stan Laurel femulates in the 1927 film Sugar Daddies.

Back to Normal

After eight sessions of physical therapy, I feel great... a few pounds lighter and pretty much back to normal. Which reminds me of femulating at work seven years ago.

When my boss arrived that day, I made a bee-line to her cubicle, saying "Happy Halloween" as I entered.

I took about a half minute before she recognized me and she was ecstatic. She checked me out and gushed over my appearance.

"He shaved his legs."

"He even did his nails."

"I hate him --- he looks better than me."

"I want your dress when you are done with it."

She took my photo and e-mailed it to some of our colleagues in our other facility. Throughout the morning, she brought people to my cubicle to show me off.

I never saw her act like this before. She was enjoying my femulation as much as I was.

Next day, my boss saw me back in boy mode and remarked, "Thank, God, you're dressed normal today."

I responded, "What's normal?"

Wearing Venus

Vince Gatton femulating Candy Darling in the 2006 stage production of Candy and Dorothy.

It's the Little Things

By Sally Stone

Last week when I was out as Sally, I stopped by a local coffee shop to satisfy my caffeine craving. I ordered a cappuccino and the young girl who waited on me asked my name for the order. She was extremely pleasant and I could tell by her demeanor that she liked my presentation. It’s always nice to be acknowledged for my efforts, even when the acknowledgement is as simple as a smile and a nod.

Anyway, flash forward to last night, when I stopped at the same coffee shop after a dinner outing. This time a young man took my drink order; the girl that had waited on me the last time was working drive-through. Yet despite her being quite busy, she took the time to walk over and say, “Hi, Sally.”

It was a little thing, I know, but sometimes it’s those little things that leave the most lasting impressions. I was flattered by her making the effort to come say hello to me and it was even more meaningful that she remembered my name. Up to that point, I’d had a wonderful day expressing my femininity, but her simple act of seeking me out and calling me by my feminine name was the absolute best part of it.

Wearing Venus

Femulators Annica Springmann and Patricia Wester

Peggy Sue Got Married

Peggy Sue is a Southern girl and a ham radio operator like myself and we regularly exchange e-mails about being girls and being hams. She wrote the following in a recent e-mail.

I pray your personal situation is not overwhelming you. My wife is balancing numerous medical issues, but we are managing to keep everything under control. I have combined some of my crossdressing days with taking her to her medical appointments. Although her doctors have known her for years, they never knew I was a crossdresser.

I wrote back.

How did your wife's doctor react to your revelation?

Peggy Sue replied.

There was very little reaction from my wife's doctors. However, the female staff was very approving and very vocal in their approval, even to the point of asking questions as to how I do makeup, purchase clothes, what does Lucy (my wife) think of it, how often to I femulate, etc.

The doctor reaction reminded me of my own physician the first time he saw my painted toes and shaved chest, which was very little reaction, other than yeah, he commented his understanding was that most crossdressers are married heterosexual men.

Wearing Ann Taylor

The evening gown competition in the 1968 documentary The Queen.

Close Call

By Sally Stone

My wife and I were planning to meet friends for drinks at a favorite watering hole in a town about 50 miles away from where we live. The location was ideal because it was equidistant from us and our friends and it afforded my wife and I a certain level of anonymity or so we thought.

When it comes to my feminine persona, I kind of lead a double life. I’m very social on one hand; on the other, our family and most of our friends don’t know anything about Sally. And while I know it is always a possible to encounter someone who knows my male persona, I feel fairly confident that mitigating such an encounter wouldn’t be too difficult. My confidence stems from the fact that when I’m presenting as Sally, I look significantly different than when I’m in male mode. I think even close acquaintances would have to get up close and personal to recognize the male me.

That’s me though. As for my poor wife, she is never in disguise, making her obviously recognizable. I think it’s the primary reason she’s not as comfortable as I when we are out as girlfriends. Such was the case on a recent Saturday outing when our plan was to rendezvous with friends who know Sally.,

We parked after paying the lot attendant, got out of the car and began to make our way across the street towards the restaurant. From the parking lot we had to climb steps up to street level and just as I reached the top of the steps two of our close friends, who don’t know anything about Sally, were walking down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. Jane, the wife, actually looked in our direction and I panicked a bit at the thought of her seeing my wife, who was just behind me still coming up the steps.

For several seconds I was certain that my wife’s biggest fear was about to be realized, that she’d be recognized and because we were together, I’d be outed. I have played scenarios like this over and over in my head, wondering how I would deal with such an eventuality and I have thought the best answer would be frank honesty. Certainly, there would have been shock on the acquaintance’s part and I would probably feel a little embarrassed, but my poor wife’s embarrassment would certainly be much worse than mine.

Fortunately, there was no recognition of either of us and our friends passed by continuing down the sidewalk. I breathed a huge sigh of relief knowing I had dodged a bullet. For my wife’s part, she had no idea the close encounter had just taken place. I thought about telling her, but knowing how the revelation would have rattled her, I chose not to.

And to be honest, my decision was for the most part, a selfish one. Had I told her, I’m certain the gravity of the near incident would have damaged her already fragile resolve making here even more apprehensive about accompanying me out in public.

Even with such a close call, I kept telling myself that a repeat occurrence was quite unlikely. But that really isn’t true. I can no more control situations like this than I can the weather and being honest with myself, I know I can’t fully protect my wife no matter how carefully I plan our outings.

So, I ask myself, “Is it just a matter of time before the inevitable happens? Is it a forgone conclusion that at some point, I'll have to face reality and reveal my feminine persona to a circle of friends that have no idea Sally exists?” I know I could weather the turbulence that would certainly follow, but I worry it won't be so easy for my wife. The selfless thing to do would be to put Sally back in the closet, but no matter how noble such a decision might be, I would be subjecting myself to eternal pain and misery. I can't and  I won't do that. I need my feminine self-expression to stay sane.

A compromise, the best I can hope for, is to minimize my wife's exposure to such threats. To do that we need to limit our girlfriend outings. That's sad and I'll miss her company, but it is a sacrifice that works to achieve two important objectives. The first is I retain the trans balance in my life that gives me my joy and my sanity and the second is I don't expose my wife to situations where her presence would serve to out me and ultimately embarrass her.

Wearing Venus (Stana likes this dress so much that she ordered it for herself.)

Kazik Mazur femulates Zdzisława Sośnicka on Polish television's Twoja Twarz Brzmi Znajomo.