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What kind of man am I? November 03, 2003 ~ 4:59 p.m. So how was everyone�s Halloween? Mine was horrific and humiliating, thanks. In fact, the real horror and humiliation is only just about to begin. I have put off posting this entry for reasons that will fast become apparent to you. But I must uphold my end of the deal. What deal, you ask? On Thursday, the wife and I went to our local fitness center to play a game of badminton. On the way there, my wife started trash-talking, saying how she would kick my butt and all that. �It�s all very well for you to gloat about things that won�t happen,� I said. �Wishful thinking, hon.� �How�d you like to make a bet?� she asked. �If you lose, you have to dress up.� �What do you mean, �dress up?�� I asked wearily. �Cross-dress,� she replied. �In my clothes.� �OK,� I said. �Deal.� �Not yet,� she said. �And I get to take a picture of you, and you�ll post it on Diaryland.� �Now wait a minute �!� �What�s the matter?� she asked. �Afraid of losing?� I gulped, but did not back down. �You�re on,� I grumbled. So we played. There are not a whole lot of athletic activities that my wife could hope to compete with me at. But badminton is one of them. I am a very good badminton player; but she is excellent. Her days as an elementary school gymnast come flooding back every time she steps onto the court. It was a tight game down to the last match, but she totally caught me off-guard with a stunning backhanded shot. The birdie shot past my racket. I lost. Defeat. I had to face it. I had an idea that she would just make me wear one of her skirts and a pair of high-heels. But, no. I should have known better. When we got home, she pulled out a leather mini-skirt, a pair of black nylons, knee high leather boots and a blouse. �No!� I said. �Forget it!� �You wear this or I�ll never play with you again,� she said. I didn�t know whether or not she was kidding, but now I was looking like a sore loser. I�d made a deal, and what kind of man would I be in her eyes if I didn�t accept my punishment? For the next hour, I suffered the indignant torture of being instructed on how to put on pantyhose without laddering them and how to apply mascara. When I showered, she told me to use the curl-enhancing shampoo and the diffuser on the hair dryer. Then she added a bit of rouge. I was already weak from embarrassment and about to drop from it. But it wasn�t over. She grabbed the Polaroid, told me to stand by living room window and took the shot. I had to not only look at it, but scan it and add it to my Diaryland server. �Now�post it,� she instructed. So, dear reader, here is the result of that horrible night:
Folks, this took extreme bravery. I hope you appreciate it. Now I�m going to go hide under the bed for a week. Hope you�re happy, hon. � M.E.M.
Copyright � 2001-2007 by M.E. Manning. All material is written by me, unless explicitly stated otherwise by use of footnotes or bylines. Do not copy or redistribute without my permission.
AMERICA FOR TRUE AMERICANS!
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