ENTER THE DRAG-QUEEN

Mal sipped his tea reflectively and looked at me
sadly saying: "Hen, your fucked!"
I nodded.
"I sooo am! What can I do Mal? My life is chaos and
challenges, my sex life is so complicated it needs
a personal agony aunt, my father is a Tory and my
Mum a Gangland bitch. What can I do?"
"Becka, you are a woman, you can shop! What else
could you do? As a gesture of goodwill you can choose
anything off the rails (as long as it's under £100) to
start the 'new you'! Now come on, I've a business to run
and you are waylaying me." I blinked in shock.
"Your Scottish and your offering me something for
free?" I laughed at the notion, so rare was it!
"Aw fuck off then!"
"You are a good man Mal." I smiled at him.
We had spoken, well I had for hours, I'd told him
near enough everything about myself save the brand
of my tampons. "I wish all men were like you." He
laughed at this loudly.
"I'm more man then your'll ever get and more woman
then your'll ever be." He smiled back:"Oh fuck the
shop! Lets get dressed up and hit the town!"
He sounded happy and who was I to argue? Mal could be
just what I was looking for. I watched him cooing over the
plus size dresses in a way that showed he had more
then a passing interest.
"Are you a transvestite Mal?" I asked as I struggled
into a courture dress that was obviously too big in
the breast-icle department.
"Am I fuck!" He laughed his giant's laugh:"Nooo way!
I'm a drag queen, I don't do that miming shit though-
I sing." He seemed very pleased with himself.
"Ah." I said:"I see." I winced thinking of his utterly
terrible tracks that were playing when I first entered
the shop.
"I go under the name of Rhonda Redbuns and I sing
in the style of Bette Midler."
"I've a sister who looks a bit like Bette." I said.
(Hey! Cheeky cow-Rainex)
"She doesn't sound much like her, she has the tit and
hair thing going on though." I said as I put a pair of fuck-
off flares on and a hippy-dipshit top.
"Aw no girl!" Roared Mal:"You look like Cher's dirty
knickers! Go upmarket!"
So obviously I chose black, a simple Ruthie-style black
dress, very well cut. I looked like an escaped secretary
from the 60's.
"Very nice!" Said Mal approvingly:"And myself?" He
stroked the front of his green silk dress seductively.
"Fantastic!" I enthused, he was about the worst, most
unrealistic woman I had ever seen. Eyeshadow from
hell, a dress that made him look like the ruddy Queen
Mother (if she was still alive and ever wore green
sequins), Eddie Izzard had better make-up skills. A wig
that looked like it had escaped a mating with a panda
and legs that boasted a thick auburn fuzz.
"We just need to fine tune this." I said:"Now take me
to your make-up remover!" I ordered.
"What ya mean?" He looked hurt, his square jaw
trembled then set in a pissed-off arch. Oh fuck.
"I mean." I said carefully:"You look great, truly you
do. But I am by trade a make-up artist, I'll show you
how to make the most of your strawberry blond
features." Small tip peeps (always call a ginger
strawberry blond, they will be putty in your hands!)
"Look at your face Mal! So beautiful but obscured by
make-up (crayons) and lipstick (goo) that is far
too (gaudy) strong for your (manly) lovely face."
"You think?" He said.
"Yeah I do, come on Cinders let's sort you out
love."
Mal suddenly turned me around:"We are strangers,
you haven't got to do anything you know."
I looked at him:"But I want to and I've nothing
else planned."
"I mean, you seem very used by the people in your
life. I'm not like that, besides your not my kind
of girl!" He grinned. I touched his arm.
"Thanks Mal, listen can we shave your legs?"

Becka M