Hey wow, me on the television!
It all started when I got a call from someone with the Sally Opra Donahue Show. Their schedule said it was time to put a crossdresser on exhibit and they wondered if I was interested. Someone down there had been reading my columns, it seems. I patiently explained that I was known as the Bearded Lady for good reason, I had a full, dark, bushy beard and was unlikely to be seen as a woman. The only response was "Hey - kinky. That's great! The audience will love it."
So I agreed, after all I consider myself second only to Rush Limbaugh as a font of wisdom on all subjects, and even he wouldn't be as well informed as I on crossdressing. I dug the wig out of the recesses of closet, found something to wear in my $9.99 or less wardrobe that matched my reddish beard and went forth unto the Studio, suitcase in hand. You didn't think I would try and go dressed, did you? The makeup person didn't bat an eye at me, but then there was a four foot tall green alien on my left and two Elvis clones on my right - one old and one young - remarkably like the stamp images.
It was fun waiting in the Green Room, that's the place where the guests wait until it's their turn to go on camera. I wasn't even nervous as I had a nice talk with gentleman who was able to give me a complete outline of my future from the slope, size and nipple placement of my breasts. I was relieved to know I would become pregnant soon if I ordered his tape on stress relief. He knew how long I had been trying and how frustrating it was to be unable to conceive.
Across the room there was a heated discussion concerning Satanic rituals among the homeless in Cleveland. I couldn't resist asking a nattily dressed gentlemen why he was holding a large stack of records in his lap, and he informed me in detail of the suicide messages to be found when playing rock records backwards. It made me wonder what the cults promoting this activity are going to do about messages on CDs.
Al too soon it was time to make my appearance. I sat there nervously watching the monitor tell me that all you had to do to be young and beautiful was drink Poopsie-Cola until the red light went on. Sally Opra switched on her smile and asked me why I was trying to save the last lighthouse in Nebraska. I think you will be able to share my confusion at the question. Obviously Sally Opra had the wrong cue card, and how could I tell her that on National TV?
What else could I do? I think I came off creditably in explaining why it is impossible to grow wheat on the prairies without a proper government subsidized lighthouse, and was roundly applauded after asking the audience to write their congressmen to support the cause. The light on the camera winked out and switched to a woman telling how to keep odor under control in well, private, uh, places.
So there went my 15 minutes of fame, gone before I could even notice it. The only regret I had is that I couldn't tell America how crossdressers are as sane and normal as any other guest on a national Talk Show. Maybe Geraldo will call me sometime and I can tell him about the mutant dwarfs tunneling in my basement.
