Fast forward a few hours, and we are in bed, and Mrs A like an ice block, barely reacting to my endearments and sleep tight kisses. ‘Now what have I done?’ I wondered. Mrs A got up and disappeared, and when she hadn’t returned I went to find her. She asked me if I liked the lipstick, and I was a bit gob smacked. Although I had wiped the stuff off my lips, it transpires that I left the evidence on my drinking glass. I can’t help but chuckle over that, as I can’t believe I was such a muffin, as in ‘muffin the mule – fool’, not as in ‘chocolate chip’. The resulting angst wasn’t anything to laugh at though.
We had some tears, and actually talked a bit about it. Interestingly, Mrs A complained that while I was up stairs, ‘doing whatever I do’, she couldn’t come up there, virtually making a part of her home out bounds, so I told her I felt the same way, I wasn’t free to use my home as I wanted either. She complained that I returned from ‘up there’ still in character, poncing about like a girl. I took that as a compliment, as I try to have those subtle womanly traits all the time, even out and about; hmm perhaps not subtle enough. How all this will effect our relationship, and the amount of en femme time I get, time will tell, because, above all else, I’m still a girl in a guys body.