I was looking to start a new life because God knows; my current one was as much fun as sucking a brick.
I threw a dart at the map, Daytona Beach it is; sun, beaches and girls in bikinis.
The moving company took care of everything; the only thing I had to worry about was a carry-on with enough clothes and toiletries to get me through my overnight stop in Phoenix.
At the airport in Seattle, I stepped out of the cab and into a six-inch deep pile of slush. I stopped in the men’s room and tried to dry my shoes and socks under the hand dryer with minimal results. On the flight, the eight-year-old girl seated next to me decided that her soda would make a nice addition to my lap. Finally, as I walked from the airport in Phoenix to my hotel, I snagged my shirt on a fence post and tore it from the left armpit to the middle of my back.
Luckily, I thought, I had a change of clothes in my carry-on.
Ignoring the hotel clerks curious stares, I checked in and found my room, stripped down and headed straight to the shower and then straight to bed.
At 4:45 a.m. the alarm clock forced me out of bed. Hopefully today would be an improvement over yesterday. First day of the rest of my life and all that crap.
That theory was shot to hell when I opened my suitcase. I threw the lid back and saw lavender. I don’t own any lavender clothing. I picked up the mystery article and the confusion grew. I certainly don’t own any skirts, lavender or otherwise.
I fumbled for the name tag and felt my heart drop. Somewhere, a woman named Julia Mulholland was finding jeans, a Led Zeppelin tee-shirt, black boxer briefs and white tube socks in her suitcase.
My mind had three different reactions in less than a second. The first thought was to just put on the women’s clothes. The second was to wear my dirty and torn clothes. The third thought was that life was still sucking and I was going to miss my flight.
I threw the lavender skirt on the bed and flopped myself down on top of it to think. With my arm across my face I cursed the forces of the universe for putting me in such an ugly predicament. I’m sure that somewhere in the cosmos, someone was thinking that this was pretty funny.
A minute later I realized that something felt really good on my back. It was silky-smooth and felt like a soft hand gently caressing my skin. I leaned to the side and pulled it out; it was the lavender skirt.
Although I was alone in the room, I surreptitiously glanced around to make sure there was nobody watching before I rubbed the softness on my face. It was like a gentle spring breeze.
It was crazy, I told myself. You can’t do it, you’re a man. You love football, steak and The Three Stooges. Most of all, you love women.
“It’s the only way,” the heavenly lavender temptress whispered to me.
I found myself standing up and rummaging through the suitcase. I took out a cream colored blouse that would go nicely with the skirt. A pair of nylons, a bra (Julia was a well-endowed woman) and a pair of thong panties. There was even a pair of shoes that didn’t look too torturous to wear.
Before I knew it, I was fully dressed. Fortunately my long hair and youthful complexion prevented me from looking like a freak. In fact, I looked pretty damn good.
I walked to the airport, eliciting several admiring looks and a wolf whistle. In the crowded terminal my butt was pinched twice.
Approaching the terminal, the door was opened for me by a ruggedly-handsome cowboy. A gentleman on the plane put my carry-on in the overhead bin for me and offered me his window seat.
In the Daytona airport a well dressed man bought me lunch and a drink, even though I declined his invitation to dinner.
I received a wink and a friendly warning from a policeman when I drove my rental car through a red light.
It may be a man’s world, but I was doing OK as a woman. That’s when it hit me;
I was looking for a new life and I found it in the wrong suitcase.