The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1502 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Hi everybody, glad those of you got my message were able to get here. I’d like to introduce Cathy, someone I went to school with, here in Bristol.” I watched Caroline as she addressed the group. She had put on some weight, well, hormones do that to you sometimes. She was still ginger haired, although that was darker than I remembered it. Back in school she was called Carrot top.

Facially, she wasn’t too bad, though some instruction in cosmetics and a good hairdresser would help her presentation and she lumbered about the place like a chimp in diving boots. If you wear heels best make sure you can walk in them before stepping out the door.

I glanced at the group. Two were wearing female clothes, two were dressed as men and two were possibly practising scarecrows. All of them looked like refugees from Oxfam and even those dressed as men had no coordination of wardrobe or colours.

They all needed help, possibly financially as well in basic presentation. Now was not the time to try and explain that living the dream and doing well was possible — claim forms for extra benefits might have been more useful.

“I first really saw Cathy when she played Lady Macbeth in the school play...” Caroline continued and I decided to interrupt her.

“Thanks, Caroline, I think they’ve listened to my CV long enough. Hi, I’m Cathy, and this is Julie and we’ve come to help try and advise you on presentation skills.”

“That’s okay for you. You’re both women, but we’re a different shape, so how are you going to be able to help there?” asked one of the group dressed in boy mode. I noticed Caroline was going to correct him, but my eye contact with her made her drop it.

“Women come in all shapes and sizes, as do men. If you wanted to impress as men, you’d dress smartly, hold your tummies in and shoulders back. The way you hold yourself would tend to convey that you were male and your status might be determined by your gesture and attitude as well as the cut of your clothes.

“Some of that applies to women as well. We throw our shoulders back because it pushes your chest out,” I demonstrated. “Emphasising one of our secondary sexual characteristics–female breasts.”

“Yeah, so you’ve got a nice pair, I haven’t.” The man was trying to negate anything I was saying. He had me down as someone who pitied him–I don’t know about pity, I was feeling rather more antipathy.

Okay, you could see my cleavage and despite the bra I was wearing they did move about a little, especially when I walked–not helped by my wearing heels.

“First impressions are paramount, people take on board what you are within a second of seeing you. If you look odd or strange they’ll take a longer look, and then things are going to go from bad to worse.

“So you need to look presentable for that first impression. Wear clothes that enhance your good points and disguise your bad ones. A fitted jacket with a flared hem can suggest more of a waistline and bigger hips than most male bodies have–but you need to be careful they don’t emphasise the shoulders.

“Tight skirts will possibly show small hips and bigger waists, so be aware of those when you’re wearing close fitting clothes. Avoid horizontal stripes they make you look wider and big patterns can also sometimes make you look broader.

“High heels are fine, providing you’re not already very tall, and you can walk proficiently in them. Avoid things that make you stand out unless you are confident in being able to pass scrutiny–if you’re six foot four and wearing five inch heels, you’ll bash your head on the top of the doorframe. You’ll also stand out like a sore thumb.”

Questions of a more constructive vein began to emerge and before long we were having quite a useful conversation. Someone asked about hair and makeup, and Julie offered to show them, which had them all enjoying her skills and the man who’d been awkward with me, had his eyes glued to her chest or her shapely bum.

One of those dressed as female, asked about coordinating a wardrobe and with some help from Caroline’s laptop, we were able to call up a few online shops and look at what sort of things were available and how to put a basic wardrobe together–including obvious things like colour themes, needs of workplace, social needs and so on.

Tea was made and together with chocolate biscuits we continued offering opinions for over two hours. At the end, the vote of thanks left us in no doubt that the group had thought we were biological females. They all left except Caroline, who was a little put out.

“Why wouldn’t you let me tell them that you were transgendered?”

“So I could completely disenchant them?”

“No, so you could inspire them to greater things.”

“I can’t tell them how to find and marry a wealthy man or get a good job. I wouldn’t dare advise them on designer labels because some of those are very attention seeking clothes and we both know you need to fade into the background much of the time.”

“But you have a good job don’t you?”

“I’m relatively lucky, I have a sympathetic employer who supported my changeover, in fact they encouraged it. They were also obliged by policies and the law not to discriminate–not everyone else is so lucky, especially in these straitened times. Let’s face it, if you have to lose staff to keep a business afloat, most employers are likely to retain their best staff and lose the rest including those who make things awkward for them, like full time trannies.”

“You think that’s acceptable, do you?”

“No, I didn’t say that, but we tend to be easy targets because what we’ve done makes us stand out in the crowd. It’s still relatively unusual despite the stories every week in the tabloids. We still cross quite a few boundaries of conservative types and they don’t feel comfortable–which I know is their problem–but it becomes yours if the conservative type is your boss.”

We talked as we washed cups and cleared up the room. Julie was quite happy, she’d done two makeovers and her victims, I mean clients, were really happy. “Why don’t we go for something to eat?” I suggested.

“It’s a bit early for most restaurants,” replied Caroline.

“Isn’t there a Wetherspoons near here?” I asked. This is a national chain of pubs which also do food–it’s not cordon bleu, but it’s okay and hopefully at this time we’d have some relative privacy. It transpired there was one about a hundred yards away. Caroline locked up and we walked to the pub which was open and still serving food.

“You look absolutely terrific, Cathy. Mind you, you always did.” Caroline was most generous with her compliments. “Compared to me.”

“Waddya think?” I said to Julie.

“I’ll have a mixed grill, please, Mummy.”

“No not about the menu, but about Caroline?” I watched her squirm as I spoke to Julie.

“Good potential,” she replied.

“That’s what I thought, if we could get you to a decent hairdresser and get a good cut done, lose the split ends, a nice outfit–preferably separates, with a fitted jacket or a long cardi.”

“Yeah, in something like a rust colour or even a nice shade of green.”

“I was thinking a pattern with coppers and beiges in it perhaps some green as well.”

“They had something like that in New Look the other week, Mummy.”

“Why are you calling her, Mummy?” Caroline asked Julie.

“She’s my adopted mum–okay?”

“Fine, except she can’t be more than ten years older than you.”

“Does that matter?” I asked, “Julie needed a parental figure and I was available.” Caroline shrugged.

We ordered food and I paid for it. It was eatable and for the cost, very reasonable.

“What are your job prospects?” I asked Caroline.

“In this climate, zilch to minus ten, why you got a vacancy?”

“I might have, but I’d need you to work on your presentation skills and we’d have to do a CRB check.”

“What? Are you serious?” she spluttered over her roast beef.

“No I always torment people like this.”

“Don’t take any notice of Mum, she’s a real tease.” Julie interjected.

“You have a job vacancy–really?”

“Yes I do–it’s nothing glamorous–it’s only as a helper in the house. I have one, but with seven kids plus my sister in law’s two young ones, it gets a trifle busy. There’s loads of laundry and housework, taking or collecting the kids from school at times and doing anything else I ask you to do.”

“Sort of housekeeper nursery maid?”

“Yeah, general slave work,” I smirked.

“When do I start?”

“I need to do the CRB check first. Sorry, but it is my children we’re talking about. I suppose as well I’d need for you to meet Stella, my sister in law and Jenny, my existing helper. It might be nice to meet the kids too, and Simon and Tom. We’re quite a little community.”

“You’re not just being nice, are you?”

“No, I have a genuine vacancy. If you accept and everyone is happy, once the CRB is done you could start. Meanwhile I need you to be more presentable, so we’ll take you out for a little shopping trip and visit to the salon. You’ll also need to work on your voice.”

“That’s amazing, what sort of salary are you offering?” asked Caroline.

“Nothing special, but you’d live in rent free and eat with us if you’re home. I would also hope to make it possible to enable you to study to get a job or academic qualification while you’re with us, so if you fancy training for something.”

“I’d love to be a nursery nurse.”

“I’m sure they do training for that somewhere in Portsmouth, so it could be possible.”

“Who’s going to run your group if you come to us?” Julie showed she was listening.

“It’s about time someone else did something to help, so that’s up to them.”

“Okay, we’ll set up a visit to the menagerie for next week or so.” I suggested and Caroline agreed.