I called Donna the afternoon of our high school reunion prank [read Part 1 here], trying to figure out which way to go with my pre-op tranny makeover. We decided on the tastefully middle-aged Bea Arthur Maude-era look:
"There is no way you can make me look even quasi-pretty," I said.
"We'll see," said Donna, in that confident voice that magicians use right before they pull a rabbit out of your underpants. "I think you vastly underestimate my talents."
Encouraged, I went out and bought a pair of very flat, sparkly shoes, because there was no way I would be able to walk, dance, or even stand in Frost-me pumps all night. I also bought some black sparkly tights to cover the hideous psoriasis scars and lesions on my legs.
When I came home with my stuff (OK, accessories), the Golden Girls trannysformation seemed to be taking effect. I was watching older women on TV and found myself thinking things like, "My ass isn't that fat," or "Man, are her boobs sagging!"
I may be many things, but I never expected "catty bitch" to be one of them.
Luckily, Donna showed up soon after, and began to work her magic. And I do mean Frost-ing MAGIC. Just watch the transformation:
"One tranny, coming right up"
My masculinity takes one last gasp
Dr. Donna goes to work, as the people on TV look on in fascination.
One fake boob was a baseball, the other was a prescription bottle wrapped in a dirty sock.
Eat your heart out, bitches!
Watch out, swim team. COUGAR TIME!
After Donna was done, we hurried downstairs and got into the car before any of my neighbors saw me. Half an hour later, we pulled up to the front of Kowloon, where the Tiki God welcomed us with an expression that seemed to say "HOMO."
We went over the details. I would go by "Jeannie," and Donna would be "Kitty." Our photographer friend Neal would stay undercover, only going near us to quietly shoot video footage.
Our hearts were racing as we entered the restaurant. It was showtime.
Please continue to Part 3: Showtime at the Reunion!
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