Leave it to me to start bantering with my sister-in-law about cross-dressing. Yesterday at the store I received a phone call that has become oh-so-familiar these days: The thinly veiled cross-dresser phone call. Now, if you work at a place that sells leotards and tights, you must expect these types of calls. Rarely do these gentlemen come in, and when they do, the clothing is for their mother (for an EARLY Mother’s Day present). The chap on the phone yesterday went round and round about how “the Lady of the House” was interested in shimmery, sparkle tights in black…and she liked them tight around the legs too, would I know how to get them tight around the legs? I patiently reminded him over and over again that we go by the sizing chart on the back of the box, the chart is usually never wrong–unless one is being dishonest about their height and weight. I had to break his heart and inform him that we do not sell sparkle tights, (as most people in the conservative dance world of Fort Collins wouldn’t be caught dead in anything remotely shimmery), BUT we could order them. This produced another round of intimate questions regarding the tight’s thickness and girth. Ten minutes later I encouraged him to just come on into the store and we could see what we could for his “Mother.” Five minutes into the conversation I really wanted to just say, “Look, let’s just be frank…these tights are for you, I don’t care, let’s just eliminate the whole MOM thing and find out what YOU really want.” But, alas, we did not have that dialouge. And I rarely do, usually I have to speak to these fellows with the unspoken understanding that I know the XL long-sleeve leotard is for them. Here are the immediate cross-dressing clues:
1. The clothing is for Mom, Sister, or The Lady of the House.
2. The clothing is usually for “lounging around the house,” not actual dancing.
3. The clothing is usually in a large size, because Mother is unspeakably overweight. Leotards are almost always long-sleeve.
4. If shoes are desired, they are typically high-heels or (my favorite) patent leather tap shoes in a size 11.
Once, an extremely comfortable gentlemen showed a picture of himself as a woman to a co-worker. He was hoping to get her opinion: Did he look like a real woman to her? She was 17 and not really ready to be posed with the question. I wish I had been there. I would have embraced him. Having lived in Capitol Hill in Seattle for a brief period of time, I had been accostomed to queens hanging outside The Pink Zone, and packs of skimply clad men jogging at 6am outside our window. I never felt safer walking around at night, because gay men are typically very pleasant and not at all interested in little old me at 2am.
My sister-in-law is hip enough to know that many cross-dressers aren’t gay at all, just extremely comfortable in women’s clothing. The fellow on the phone yesterday revealed he was a plumber, which is a pretty masculine job. Turns out, when he discovered I wouldn’t be working over the weekend, I think I lost him. We had developed quite a repoir over the phone, and I don’t think he wanted to start it up with another employee over the weekend. If it was up to me, the store would start a cross-dressing phone order system, where these guys could call up and descreetly order their tights and leotards without having to walk into the store. I think there would be a lot of money to be made in this conservative town for a service like that.