3 min

Confessions of a man-made woman

Escaping the dastardly curse of the weiner

Darlings! Your overwhelming response to my musings leaves me speechless. In a mere year, I have single-handedly made Vancouver-indeed the world-a more beautiful place.

People keep coming up to me asking questions. Probing me, if you will. One poor soul stands out in my mind. “Mistress, I feel that I am like you. When did you know that you were a girl?” she asked.

Well dear ones, after I got over my fainting spell and fit of vapours-like me indeed! Ah how I love the delusions of the lumpen proletariat!-she did get me to pondering.

When was the last time that we talked about me? Hmmm, I thought so. That is why I think it will be fruity and fun if you all curl up around my column-oh do control yourselves-and Mistress Rosamond will tell you a very scary story.

This story is about a beautiful little princess who had been cursed and banished to the far and ghastly outskirts of Butt Hole Nowhere by her wicked fairy godmother. There she was forced to live surrounded by dullards, inbred mutant hillbillies, filthy cretins and other members of her extended family. Shhh, if you listen closely you can here the Duelling Banjos.

As if all that were not dreadful enough, the evil one put the icing de la shit on the shittiest curse of all time. Your Mistress, ooops I mean the beautiful princess, was trapped in the wrong body! Quelle, quelle horror.

What was this princess to do? Everything was dreadfully wrong and she could no longer live like this.

Then, at the tender age of five, a miracle happened. The princess first saw the Christine Jorgensen Story on TV. She had known the depths of dark despair and now a blazing beam of light had shown her that she was not a freak. That actually she had a medical problem that was correctable.

The princess’ pulse quickened in her heaving bosoms! Oh drat! She had no bosoms! Yet.

Oh lord. Who do I think I am fooling? Of course this sad little princess is none other than beautiful me. Your Mistress Rosamond. Christine’s story inspired moi more than you could ever imagine.

I thought she was beautiful although, of course, I could see room for a few improvements. But the important part was that she had escaped the dastardly curse of the male body and transformed herself. Here was the path to my salvation! From that time on, I knew exactly what my future was going to be.

Sadly though, even after this major epiphany, my life in hell continued. It seemed that everybody had an endless supply of hideous ideas about how to butch me up.

Luckily, none of them worked in the slightest. That does not mean that I was freed from the agony of hockey, Boy Scout camps, or the hunting trips with the testosterone-laden uncles. Non! Non!

Why, one time the uncles forced me to go on a gopher hunting expedition. It was not bad enough that I had to participate in this senseless slaughter. No, to add insult to injury, I fell into a muddy, boggy stink hole and almost died! As it was, my manicure and pedicure were completely ruined and I was forced to sit in my uncles’ foul smelling truck for several hours.

Thankfully my uncles declined to take me hunting again when they caught me trying to use a piece of cow hoof for an emery board. A pox on them, I say.

As it turned out, I was much happier in the comfort of my own home, performing cosmetic surgeries on stuffed animals. Two tennis balls really made the most magnificent boobies for Paddington Bear.

I spent my days at school daydreaming about the fabulous woman I would become. My nights at home were mostly spent mutilating my GI Joe dolls and cursing my wretched wiener in the privacy of my boydoir.

Yes, even as I pledged allegiance to God and the Queen in the Boy Scout concentration camps, I was living a double life. (I honestly believed that they meant drag queen.) My yearning to grow up into a beautiful woman could not be denied.

Ah, my dearest little pebbles! It is not an easy road that I have travelled to attain ultimate beauty, and my fantastic success certainly did not come overnight. There was still the pain of puberty to go through, not to mention all the difficult and costly surgical procedures I endured to reach my goal.

But every dainty little step of the way was worth it. And I plan to share them all with you over my next few columns.

Yes! Yes! I know, last time I said I’d answer all your lovely letters. And I will of course. It’s just that right now answering letters seems so tedious, really. I mean, I love them all so much and I just don’t know where to start!

Oh darlings, that doesn’t mean that I want you to stop writing and sending along those delicious nude photos. Not at all! Puleeze just keep them coming, and I promise, Girl Scouts’ honour, that I’ll be sure to get back to you just as soon as I can.

This intimate portrait brought to you by Mistress Rosamond and her strangely asexual chum, Hedy