Pretty

The first time I remembered having interest was when I was six. I was looking at a dress in the Disney store rather than Woody from Toy Story. The Aurora doll had me more intrigued than any of the others. Of course, my parents said no and I left the store with a stuffed Simba.

One incident that occurred around the age of nine, when my mother and father were away and I was left with a babysitter, I walked into the bathroom and saw my mother's make up. Compelled to put it on, I picked up the lipstick and rolled it out on to my lips. Of course, it turned out messy and ugly, but hey I was nine, cut me a break.

Neither of them could know the thoughts that ran around my head. The pound-pound-pounding of a beautiful girl. The crash-crash-crashing of what I wanted to be. The bang-bang-banging of the boy I'd been born trying to escape through the back door and welcome in a girl.

The sob-sob-sobbing That was made when no one was home.