Minus the magic knickers

The Christmas party has been and gone. I decided to abandon the magic knickers and instead opted for a week of starvation, which proved to be much more effective! Although predictably I am now finding myself roaming around work excessively sampling the pre Christmas delights of mince pies, pakora, cakes, biscuits, samosa and chocolates. (One of the advantages of working in such a multicultural environment has been the revelation that is pakora).

The realisation that I can be feminine has been one of great excitement. Though I have to admit it is too time consuming and exhausting for me to consider adopting it as a lifestyle change anytime soon. The endless appointments of having bits added, other bits removed and more bits straighted in the end proved tiresome (Incidently these bits being nail varnish, eyebrows and hair). But I am still smiling at the fact I wore a long, grey, clingy dress and pulled it off. Looking feminine that is, not the dress.

Most amusing of all the pre party preparations had to be the St Tropez tan. Having had one before I had a hazy recollection of what to expect, but typically my mind had blocked out the true extent of humiliation. As I stood there naked aside from a pair of paper knickers, legs astride, arms in the air with a woman brandishing a gun just inches from me, I was reminded. It did however serve as the perfect opportunity to road test my banal conversation, she did not seem wholly impressed!

So it was that three quarters of an hour later, wearing an eclectic assortment of old baggy clothes, covered head to toe in brown vegetable dye and emitting a rather odd odour that I made my way home.

The requisite 8 hours later (well 7 hours 45 minutes as I had to go to work) I washed off the dye, which had now taken on a scarily orange tone. Thankfully the washed off version was far more appealing to the eye and reasonably authentic looking (good job really as I don’t think turning orange is an acceptable reason for not going into work). As it was, it proved to be a source of amusement for the patients as they made endless wisecrack comments about my sudden change in colour. Of course like a true professional I smiled as they asked if I had to pay more in view of the extra surface area they had to cover. Compared to this, banal Christmas party chit chat would be a doddle.