Short Stories To Tickle Your Funnybone Read Online Free PDF

with
this.
Now that I was all decked out in my bra
and pantyhose, Maggie stepped back to take a look
at her handiwork.
“Not bad,” she declared. “In fact, I think
I’m getting a little turned on.”
The evening wasn’t a total loss after all.
Maggie had no appointments the next
morning, so we headed to the Salvation Army
Thrift Store to complete my outfit.
I’ve never been much of a shopper. Guys
don’t have to be. I have two kinds of pants, dress
and casual. If I need a pair, I go to the store, grab
my size off the rack and check out. No need to try
it on. It’s exactly like the one I’m replacing.
But I’ve never bought a dress.
As we
rummaged
through the
racks,
Maggie would pull one out and hold it up in front
of me. I found myself saying stuff like, “No,
that’s just not right for me” or “I think we can do
better.”
What was happening to me?
I actually tried one on and asked Maggie if
it made my butt look big.
Where did that come from?
Finally, I found one that felt just right. It
was the perfect shade of brown to bring out the
color in my eyes and while not slutty, was just
tight enough to accent my figure.
My God, what did I just say?
Our next stop was the wig rack.
There was a huge selection of both colors
and lengths.
I had always heard that blondes have more
fun, so I tried on a saucy blonde pageboy with
bangs.
I looked like Phyllis Diller.
I told Maggie I needed something shoulder
length, fuller, with more body.
What was happening to me?
I finally settled on a dark auburn with flirty
bangs that matched my dress perfectly.
Shoes were a different story.
I wear a size nine and a half which is
average for a guy. By comparison, Ox wears a size
twelve.
But finding a woman’s shoe in a low heel
that would fit a guy proved to be a challenge. We
had to hit three thrift stores before we found
something I could walk in.
‘Walk in’ might be too generous. ‘Wobble
in’ would be more accurate.
My new footwear sported two-inch heels,
nothing remarkable for the ladies, but a definite
challenge for me.
Maggie and I love to dance and we watch
‘Dancing With The Stars’ on TV. I had always
marveled at how the lady
professionals could
execute all those fast and intricate steps wearing
four-inch spike heels. I have even greater respect
for them now.
Walking on my ankles in my two-inch
heels was reminiscent of my first experience on
ice skates. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
Our shopping concluded, I called Ox, told
him to meet at Maggie’s apartment with the
surveillance equipment and we headed home.
After lunch, Maggie suggested we start
getting my make-up on. She said that we might
run into some issues. I wondered what she meant
by that.
We sat at her kitchen table and she spread
her whole array of jars and tubes and brushes.
“When did you shave last?
“This morning.”
“Go do it again. I can only cover up just so
much.”
I shaved and when I returned she had made
her selections.
“OK, foundation goes on first.” And she
started smearing this light-brown pasty cream all
over my face.
“Now the eyebrows.” And she started
drawing on my forehead with some kind of grease
pencil.
“Hold really still or I’ll poke your eye out.”
and she outlined my eyelids with a little pencil
thing.
“Now don’t blink.” And she came at me
with some kind of pliers that she clamped on my
eyelashes.
“Now for the lip-liner and lipstick.” She
coated my mouth with ‘cinnamon rose’.
It occurred to me that it was much more
fun getting the lipstick off her mouth.
“Now for a little blush to give you some
color and a pat of powder so you don’t shine.”
Oh good. I really didn’t want to shine.
She stood back to admire her handiwork.
“I’m afraid that’s as good as it’s going to
get.”
Just what every gal wants to hear.
I looked in the mirror and ‘YIKES’ I
looked like a cross between Ronald McDonald,
Howdy Doody and Raggedy Ann.
It’ll be better with your wig on,” she said.
I certainly