I’m an X-Man, a Mutant, a Metamorph

I expect to hear it any moment now. The knock at the door informing me that Dr. Xavier has arrived, he has finally found me, a man that can morph into a woman. By the time you read this post I will probably be at his school for the gifted, which we all know is just a ruse for people with extremely special talents.

It happens every single week. I can’t help it, I don’t know when it started, but I know it is getting worse. It starts with Extreme Make-Over Home Edition and ends with Grey’s Anatomy. For 3 hours I am a big girl. If I had hair it would probably be in curlers. If I knew where to get those toe separator thingys they would probably be wedged between my toes. If I wasn’t on a diet I would surely be eating bon bon’s or swilling chablis or doing both while talking on the phone about Grey’s Anatomy to my best gal pal and ripping apart all the pretty girls – like Dr. McDreamy’s wife or Eva Longoria.

I do like to groom on Sunday. It is my day of rest and the one day a week that I shave, and moisturize and clip my toenails. Pretty soon I think I might need to start waxing my eyebrows and maybe even my chest – no one likes a Chubaka. (insert Chubaka groan here.)

Funny thing about this transformation is that it only lasts for such a short period of time. Come Monday morning I am back to scratching, burping and peeing standing up. (I love being a man if not for that reason only.)

Oh, there’s the doorbell, I need to go. I am not sure how my special powers are going to be able to help Dr. X save humanity, but I am sure he will find a way.

So next time you see a 6′ 5″ 300lb woman in the nail polish aisle at Wal-Mart, take a second look, because it might not be a woman, but a super hero on a mission to save the world from hooker red nail polish and Exclamation! perfume.

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