My kid sisters

I have three younger sisters. That is, three biological sisters, those who have the same father and mother as I do. None of them know that I am their big sister, they take me as their big brother. And I am happy to let them think that way.

I have a few sisters, though, who know me as Tiina. They are not biological sisters of mine, just sisters in my mind. Laura is my big sister but since I was going to write about kid sisters, this post is not about Laura. She deserves a post of her own and that is what she is going to get, just give me some time.

In Detroit I have Karen. She is just a couple of years younger than I am so she is almost not a kid at all. She understands my girlie feelings and just about everything else between my two ears.

Karen has had some surgery of which she is recovering. I wish I could take a part of the pain she is having. I would agree to have it if it made Karen feel better and recover faster.

I would have Karen to do my nails at any time. She has given me much advice in that area. I would do her hair at any time. I think she could use some of my girlie hair advice.

I have another kid sister in Chicago. Meredith had some trouble for coming out to her spouse. Something I have difficult to relate to since I have never been married. But I do understand Mere's consern of her wonderful daughter. Kids are what make our mark to the history. I transmit my genes through my 3 nieces and 1 nephew.

My two kid sisters are in my mind almost every day. Especially so yesterday as I had my 49th birthday. Next year on my 50th, I'll run away from those false congratulators. But I'll have my two kid sisters, Karen and Meredith, in my mind.

Too good looking to be a woman

I was riding the subway yesterday afternoon as a lady caught my eye. She was propably at my age or younger. More likely somewhat younger but definitely far from her teens ;-)

Her nails were recently done. I do not know how I can tell but it must have been within hours. A girl just knows such things.

At first look her hair seemed to be unbelievably pretty. Wearing roller dos myself, no matter whether en femme or in male mode, I recognize a carefully done hair when I see one. But this one was just too good to be true. So I became suspicious.

Taking a closer look at her hair from back where I sat made me almost certain that this was not her own hair but a wig. So I looked at the lady the best I could from where I sat. Something in her made me think that this was a fellow tranny. Takes one to know one, I was probably the only person in that train to read her.

Most people here riding the westbound subway take off at the central railway station. So did I and so did she. Which gave me a chance to look at her closer, albeit shortly.

Everything she was wearing was what I would have wanted to wear at the moment. She had four inch heels. I admit I would have wanted to walk higher than that but at the moment in my male mode I would have been happy with four.

She also had a just above ankle skirt, a top and a shoulder scarf that made me sigh. The material was exactly what I would want to get hold of. But it was not something that real women here would wear, at least not that early in the afternoon. The women at our age may have worn that sort of stuff in the late 1960'ies.

Before I lost her in the escalator I could see her face. Pretty enough to ask her for some make up advice. She would definitely pass, as far as her face was concerned. And later in the evening, her too feminine clothing and wig would propably not be a problem.

A heretical thought entered my mind. Women at my age tend to reject that sort of clothing and wear either sacks or unisex clothes. So whenever you see a goodlooking woman here, you should first check out if she actually is a woman.