Lady Mustache

November is turning out to be an odd month.  I say November but in fact it’s been rechristened Movember, by a charity that collect for men's causes.  Prostate cancer to be specific.  Yet another difference that I have been vaguely aware of.  Generally the bodily differences between girls and boys that I am most concerned with, are the things I want to add - great hair, boobs etc.  Not the things that I need to subtract.  After all I'm still fond of my willie, and a prostate is just out of sight.

Anyway it seems that prostates in men are prone to cancer.  And this, of course, like ovarian cancer, is gender specific.  (Oh, oh, I feel a whole new blog coming on.) The charity organisers have wittily decided to rechristen this month to mark the occasion for charitable giving to this male-only cause.  And we’re to mark the occasion by growing a moustache.  Gender specific you see.  And, as it takes a month to grow a decent moustache, they said,  Let's use November.  Even if we have to call it Movember. (Geddit?)

In the office heat of the moment, and masquerading as I do, as a sort of man’s man, I joined in.  And pledged myself to the cause. At first I did rather consider the moustache is an opportunity to do a sort of purge and take a little all-male holiday.  And surely I can do without cross-dressing for one month at least?Indeed with three weeks to go, it might be necessary. After all, I have the experience, maturity and virility to grow a veritable hedge on my upper lip. 

To forswear my autogynophilia for just one month in 12, for charity.  What sanity, what self-denial. What could be nobler?  Addiction, thy name shall no longer be Moi. Then, lying in bed, pondering as I do on a Monday, the dressing delights in store for me, this month long purge began to seem less reasonable.   And then I thought about it some more, and realised that I'm hooked.  Hooked on the looks.  Hooked on the feel of the clothes.  And, not least, hooked on the fact that Monday is dressing up day. And these days are so precious, I don't want to miss a single one.

So here I sit, eight days into November, (er, Movember), dressed in a long black wig, lacy top, flouncy skirt, and high-heeled boots.  With a rather sweet (but itchy) fledgling moustache.    I can’t say I just love the look, but a moustache is no more or less absurd than the rest of my attempts to look feminine.

Happy Movember to all my readers.