Putting Her Away Until Next Weekend

Back to reality. I’d had a good weekend—until, well, reality hit. On Saturday, I wasn’t feeling great: a toothache and low energy kept me home, resting. There came a moment in the morning when I knew I had to get out of bed, so I got up and decided to shower—hoping it’d help me feel better. I shaved my face, and then got in the shower,I realized it had been several days since I’d shaved my legs—so I took care of that too.

After all the effort, I figured, why waste it? I might as well get dressed. I opted for something comfy: leggings, a sports bra, an oversized long-sleeve tee, and, of course, my wig. No makeup—it felt like a waste for a lazy day at home. Settled in my oversized chair, I had every intention of writing—but writer’s block had other plans. I ended up scrolling through social media until my wife called. “We’re heading home,” she said—code for “time to put Christina away.”

Sunday morning, though, is usually Christina’s day. I shaved my face, jumped in the shower, re-shaved my legs and body, knowing I was dressing up. I had my outfit ready: a green leather skirt (short, but not too short, with buttons up the front), a new black V-neck sweater, cute heels, and my go-to wig. I went all out—hip pads, shapewear, breast forms. Standing in the mirror, about to do my makeup—suddenly, the writer’s block lifted. I rushed to the chair and started writing, but before I knew it, my wife called to say they were on their way home from church. I hadn’t finished my makeup and hadn’t snapped a single picture of my outfit. Out of time again. I headed to the closet, changed back into boring jeans and a tee, pulled on my boots, and went out to the shop. Back to guy mode, back to reality—until next time.