Supermarket Creep

Another day on Sunnymountain Street and the dreaded trip to the supermarket to buy the wife some tights. I hate doing this. I am sure I catch women looking at me out of the corner of the eye and thinking "cross dressing perv in your dirty old mac". Of course it doesn't help that I am wearing my favourite old mac, which to be fair could do with a dry clean. To counter this I have developed a strategy to prove beyond doubt that I am not a cross dresser. This is a small town and I have my reputation to protect.

Firstly, I do not approach the women's section directly. Rather, I hang around by the powertools testing the equipment until I am satisfied that enough female shoppers have noted my presence or I am asked to move on by security.

Only then will I make my approach, theatrically checking each isle for the women's underwear as though I have never done this before. In reality I know the exact position of what I want. Ideally I will wait until it is clear and make a precision strike. Usually however there are women around, have they got nothing better to do!.

I then have to move to stage 3. I whip out my fake shopping list and pace up and down the aisle looking perplexed, a stranger in unchartered territory. I have contemplated taking this to another level, maybe scratching in a manly way or spitting on the floor but I would probably get a fine this being Switzerland.

Once I have the tights I have to run the gauntlet of the check out queue. Here I deploy classic deception techniques. Sometimes I fake a phonecall to the wife, talking just a little too loudly into the phone even though there is no one at the other end: " Yes I have your tights, I hope they're the right ones as I have never done this before" Hang up, check reactions around me, exchange knowing looks with any other men in the line. Sometimes I will buy chewing tabacco, no one who cross dresses could chew tobacco. ( I have many tins at home if anyone is interested). Occasionaly I will turn my collar up, try and look sinister and hope the girl at the check out till thinks I am an armed robber just stocking up.

Then out into the street, gasping for breath, heart beat at attack level, offending items tucked beneath aforementioned dirty old mac. Well thats over for another few weeks. Have to go, need a lie down.