Would you like to touch my tiara?

The truth has become painfully obvious.
It’s a truth that I’ve joked about often enough, but it always was just a joke.
But it is a truth.
And my mother will be so proud.

I, Thumper, aka K.A. Thompson, aka Wabbit, am a transvestite.

There, I said it.
I am a cross dresser.

I present this truth to be self evident; one look into my closet and dresser bears the startling revelation in its complete light of being. With the exception of my unmentionables and a few brightly colored blazers, I think all my clothing was purchased in the men’s departments of various stores.

Men’s jeans. Heck, they fit better and are cheaper.
Men’s sweatshirts. Much more comfy.
Men’s t-shirts. Not much choice there; my torso is too long for most women’s shirts.
Men’s socks. Just because.

I am the antithesis of all things girly.

And…and…I have a beard. It’s just a little goatee, but I can grow more on my chin than most 15 year old boys. And a surgeon once leaned in and looked hard, then asked “Have you always had that mustache?”

Why, yes.
Yes, I have.
Thank you for noticing.

I suppose I should embrace this revelation and gradually begin scratching myself in front of other people, blaming special odors on the cat, and hogging the remote. Instead of listening to a problem I could just jump in and try to fix it before I’m even asked. I could pick underwear up off the floor and sniff to see if it’s got one more good day left in it.

Or not.
I’m not transgendered, after all.

I am a drag king.

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