Ah the weekend, she approaches with endless promise. Family, a fleet of less than perfect “classic” cars and a house to clean does tend to eat up any down time.
True I have been able to dress in a more feminine fashion at home but it is hardly 100% April or for much time. The children have dance class, swimming and there are always chores to do outside. I am not quite ready for the neighbors to meet April.
My slice of suburbia is a real Peyton Place where no secret can remain hidden for long. As soon as one person knows he is planning to become a she the entire street will know about me….as they say, there goes the neighborhood.
Still I am lucky enough to get out once a week for coffee or drinks (mostly coffee, I am not that kind of girl) with a few close friends.
So much planning, preparation and stealth goes into these few precious hours I can be myself. Before I know it the evening is over and like Cinderella I must return to the drab male world for another week. I look ahead to living full time as a woman otherwise I would go mad.
But for a few hours I can be me and the joy is sometimes overwhelming and sometimes a quiet contentment. It is during these precious hours that the guilt and shame are vanquished and depression blotted out by a radiant soul.
This post is dedicated to all my sisters and brothers waiting for the weekend.
Hugs,
April
True I have been able to dress in a more feminine fashion at home but it is hardly 100% April or for much time. The children have dance class, swimming and there are always chores to do outside. I am not quite ready for the neighbors to meet April.
My slice of suburbia is a real Peyton Place where no secret can remain hidden for long. As soon as one person knows he is planning to become a she the entire street will know about me….as they say, there goes the neighborhood.
Still I am lucky enough to get out once a week for coffee or drinks (mostly coffee, I am not that kind of girl) with a few close friends.
So much planning, preparation and stealth goes into these few precious hours I can be myself. Before I know it the evening is over and like Cinderella I must return to the drab male world for another week. I look ahead to living full time as a woman otherwise I would go mad.
But for a few hours I can be me and the joy is sometimes overwhelming and sometimes a quiet contentment. It is during these precious hours that the guilt and shame are vanquished and depression blotted out by a radiant soul.
This post is dedicated to all my sisters and brothers waiting for the weekend.
Hugs,
April
