Dear Aunt Chelsea:
I am engaged to get married to my long-term, same-sex partner. We have always been very much in love and have had a great relationship…until recently.
My partner never has any money for our expenses and I am now supporting him. Before I met him, I practiced cross-dressing. It was a great outlet for me. He discouraged me from doing this. Recently, I started the practice again, and it’s taken me a while to get caught up with the new fashions — but I am now managing very well.
I started going out to a club on a regular basis. This is a straight club. I enjoy fooling men, because I look so well as a woman. No one ever suspects I’m not female. But I have found out that my partner goes to the same club — as a straight man! He is chasing some hussy and buying her gifts (that’s why he has no money).
My problem is this: Should I let him know that I have found him out? I don’t want to reveal that I have gone back to cross-dressing.
Stylish Sue
Dear Sue:
Although it’s not a cup of tea she’s prone to sip from, Aunt Chelsea is proud to support cross-dressing, in all of its fabulous permutations. What I refuse to deploy my pom-poms for, however, is deception — and I ain’t just talkin’ about the misguided little thrill you take by putting one over on those poor, clueless straight guys.
If you ask me (which you have), the picture of domestic life you paint needs a fresh coat — or better yet, a top-to-bottom makeover. Let’s look at the players in this overbaked drama: a freeloading two-timer who has the gall to deny his fiancé free expression via a closet full of frillies — and the aforementioned cross-dresser, who feels that his partner’s bad behavior somehow justifies his own emotional infidelities.
I can’t decide if the two of you deserve to marinate in your own misery or should run screaming from one another before rings are exchanged. Forced to confront the facts (a task neither person in this “partnership” seems equipped for), I’d have to go with the latter. There are more red flags in this letter than Central Park when Christo wrapped it. Yes, I know, the flags were called gates, and their color was actually saffron — but why should my advice be tethered by that loathsome burden called “honesty,” when you, dear letter-writer, hold straight talk in such low regard?
I’d sure like to be a fly on the wall of that club when your cheating mister finds out his future husband has gone back to dressing like a sister. But I’d be just as happy to miss that little show — if it meant the two of you were having a frank conversation about what you want out of life, what you expect from one another, and whether you should part ways and move on. Pom-pom jokes and Christo references aside, that’s my advice. Like a tailor-made little black dress, truth is an attractive number that never goes out of style — even when it’s hard to swallow. Good luck, hon!
