Post Number Forty Four

“Eve’s Apple”

Not knowing whether “Aunty” Mike would be welcome by his half-sister (my full-mother) I’ve been keeping his whereabouts a closely-guarded family secret SO secret that even most of my family (not counting me) are clueless. About it. And this is because I wasn’t sure how Mum (especially) would react if she found out. I mean, she did threaten to “shake Mike out’a the Family Tree” once, if memory serves. That had something to do with Mike charging me a fee for bad advisings about lawyers ‘n’ shit. She also said he wouldn’t be allowed sanctuary in this house once he was unleashed from jail. I think she meant legally unleashed, so I can’t even guess what she’d say if she discovered he’d unleashed himself illegally– although I am puh-ritty sure she would not say something like: “Mike, you are undeniably one of the Great Minds of Human Civilization”. (FORDEEN MINUTS, dood?)

On the other hand, there was still a strong chance that she wouldn’t recognise him, clad in the female garments he still refuses to take off. But on the other other hand, who’d ever guess a hard-nosed he-man like Mike would be hiding in some strange lady’s (i.e. my Mum’s) closet, of all places? Uncle Mike in the closet? Ruh-DICULOUS! Even when he was locked in a dungeon, Mike was an “out there”  kind of a guy.

But at the moment he’s an “out here”  kind of a guy, and I was curious to find out why. I have to admit, though, after Michelangelo told me the full story it made good sense. Visionary Soul that he was (if not “is”) he started planning his escape from prison twelve years ago– which is TEN years before he even got arrested, and about seven (or eight) years before he started sausage smugglin’. It was when he was  just a (quote) “slip of a thing” that he first began donning disguises in secret. Unfortunately, because he hadn’t embarked on a life of crime at that stage, he had no dough. So the choices he made re: disguises were, like, entirely down to whatever he could rustle up in my Grandma’s (and his {and my Mum’s} Mum’s’s) hosiery drawers. Yes, he must’a cut a dapper figure decked out in Grannie’s fishnet stockings and crotchless panties, I do declare.

Which means, of course, that his impatience with Unwelcome Queries was just a trigger. The upshot of the trigger was all those years and years of thought he must have put into what would (one day) become the most important part of his escape: Wearing Ladies Clothing. The perfick disguise for a he-man like he, man!

So that explains the “why”, but what about the “how” (if not the “wheretofor”)? Well, I can’t speak for the wheretofor, but I can speak for the “how”, thusly: Someone helped ‘im. Someone skilled in the Arts of Trickery. Someone so skilled, in fact, he knew how to “magically” (if you’re dumb enough to believe that sort’a thing) turn a jail-bird into a male bird. Someone who knew “how” to address the desperate ladies-clothing shortage inside the dungeon by pulling a few off-the-rack items out of a Riot Squad Helmet! That “someone” went by the name of… GRAHAM AUTHENTICO!!

Never heard of ‘im.

One person I have heard of, though, is NATASHA DE NASHA (my Squeeze) who was obviously delighted by the prospect of going out with me again– on the proviso that “someone else” come, too. She told me that she would feel (quote) “much less uncomfortable” dating Your Correspondent if we had a chaperone. Furthermore, she preferred a chaperone (quote) “burly enough” to help her drag me away (“by the hair, if necessary”) from strife.

I’m smellin’ leeerrrve.

And the Smell of Love got stronger ‘n’ stronger, for we did indeed go on that much-anticipated lucky number three date– chaperoned by my cunningly disguised Uncle-slash-Aunty. (NOTE: I should point out here that the Smell of Love {sniff above} was mostly filtered through the {potentially toxic} fumes that came from Aunty Mike’s disguise perfume– a lower shelf nostril-plonk he smeared himself with to throw the sniffer dogs off his tail; the stink of which is {apparently} now on The Fragrance Files down at Sniffer Dog H.Q.)

You wouldn’t find any sniffer dogs over at the club where I took Natasha for dinner, though– and with good reason: There was a “No Dogs Allowed” sign on the door. But in fairness, it should be said that said sign was a wasted investment when you had a quick scope o’ the club’s customer base. It only took me– correction: it only took Natasha– five nano-seconds to see that the Kabaret Klatch called “EVE’S APPLE” was obviously a hiding spot for guys who were into the same sorts of disguisery as Uncle Mike. Which is prob’ly why Mike recommended we go there. Personally, I would’a preferred going somewhere a bit less… I dunno… TESTOSTERONE-FUELLED with m’ Womyn because– in spite of the frocks ‘n’ the wigs ‘n’ shit these (probably) escaped hoodlums were wearing, I could see they were still some pretty darn masculine units, let me tell yer.

Just like I told them.

“I must say!” is what I must’a said. “You chaps are by far the most blatantly MACHO doods I’ve ever met, ladieswear disguises or not. I mean, take a good hard look at y’selves! Dinosaur-fossil cheekbones. Baseball-glove sized hands. Adam’s Apples the size of Eve’s Mangoes. Plums the size of cantaloupes. What I’m saying is– while you blokey-types would fall into the category of “strapping”– as chicks you are (let’s be man enough to admit this– because, of course, WE ALL ARE!) the most hideously… appallingly… repulsively… Aw, WHAT, Mike? Ay? Why you tuggin’ my sleeve? Can’t y’ see I’m havin’ a bit of a larf wi’ the fellas?”

Apparently, this is the point where Natasha De Nasha’s chaperone came in “handy” (they think) as she and “he” physically dragged me out the door. All because Mike was (quote) “worried”.

He said he could see those fake transvestites sharpening their tongues.