Disappointment of the Century

For much of last evening, I found myself gleefully prancing around the kitchen to the music of Shania Twain. One song, in particular - "Man, I Feel Like a Woman!" seems to have a calamitous effect on my basic style judgement. The second I hear that opening keyboard synth, five years of Low Country living come flooding back and I've just gotta put on a shitload of mascara and pink lipstick. I then scavenge my closet rabidly for the utmost appropriate attire, a la Southern Exposure Truckstop-Madonna. Then I pour myself a finger of whiskey, look in the mirror, and get all Shania. Or, I get all like the fat drunk girl with the crusty bangs, tongue piercing, and belly shirt who's gettin' all Shania. Hey. She's ladyfolk too. LET'S GO, girls!

Such is one of two moments in my life when I've openly lamented that my wardrobe seems to be missing a fuzzy cheetah-print cowboy hat. AND/OR something in a rawhide fringe/denim combo. The other moment was in 3rd grade; when I keenly observed all of the patrons at my aunt's (..dad's cousin's) bar owned one of these items - if not both. Though I was never able to obtain a style so acclaimed by these masses, I often sought their validation anyway. And you know what I learned? Husky old salts don't like 3rd-grader clarinet rehearsals in their watering hole. Seemed like a good idea at the time. I never stopped with the music, and it eventually morphed from an obsession with woodwind scale practice to a highly refined sensibility for good music. Which brings me back to Shania Twain, obviously.

I know Shania herself is a Canuck, but she does a damn fine job in motivating me to emulate some backwater hussy. I think it's because she's so purty, and yet she married that pug-faced troglodyte (who's apparently CHEATED on her?) Taking this into consideration, we're very much similar people, myself and Shania. Until today, I didn't think this was the only synonymous factor between us; until this very hour, I was almost completely sure that Shania Twain enjoyed dolling up her man in ladies clothing. I assumed this by interpreting the one line in I Feel Like a Woman! as:

"Men in shirts and short skirts....oh oh OH!"

And I always thought, holy SHIT! Shania knows what I'm talkin' 'bout!

This perverse fixation on cross-dressing began, for me, in elementary school. My best girl friends and I would often forcibly detain any neighborhood boy we could, and proceed to give him a makeover. I mean, he'd get EYESHADOW! LIPSTICK! BLUSH! GLITTER-PAINTED FINGERNAILS! The works. The more he squirmed and the louder he cried, the harder we'd laugh. And when it was all over, we'd chase him through neighbors' yards, hurling insults such as, "Girls just wanna have FUN, GAAAARY!" and, "Hey, Sean, big girls don't cry!"

Shania probably did the exact same thing. In her adult life, even - to her fug husband.

...But then flash forward to today; when I curiously Google'd Man, I Feel Like a Woman!, and found that my fav line is actually written as,

"Men's shirts - short skirts".

I've never felt such disappointment in all of my life.  I liked Shania better as a big freak.   However! Will I continue to live in abject denial and sing my delicious version? Pssha! Loud and proud, baby. You know I will.

Addendum, guys - Allowing me to make you into a very pretty woman is not necessarily a prerequisite to having relations with me; however, it does earn you super mega bonus points and nearly quadruples your chances of gettin' some.  Unless you had a "0" chance to begin with, because 0 times 4 still equals 0.  But don't blame me for that - blame math.  All I can say is, hey, you're a grown man now - you could have fought the makeover a little harder.  But you didn't, and I've got to assume it's because you like it that way...you naughty, sparkly thing you.