Announcement of the Winner

By Rosie

The voice of my mother-in-law filled her living room with a formal timbre.

"Ladies, the winner of the best wife contest will now be announced," she
said.

There weren't that many people present, certainly not to justify the
formality of the occasion, especially not this early in the afternoon,
though I liked it. The more formal, the better. Beside me and Marla, my
wife, it was just her mother, the referee and scorekeeper, and Janice and
Stephanie, Marla's older and younger sister. Though their participation in
the contest was a pure formality - the real contest was between Marla and
me. The contest started out as "the best housekeeper contest", but was
renamed to the best wife contest quite early in the game. Even though I
was clearly a husband, not a wife, I didn't mind the implication. On the
contrary, I liked it even more than the original. After all, among the two
of us, either one of us had the same chances of being a good housekeeper,
but when competing who was the better wife between us, the advantage
seemed to be clearly on her side. This, for me, was an even better
motivation to win - after all, the closer we were to Marla's home field
when I beat her, the better.

I wouldn't call myself a naturally competitive person, unlike Marla, but
she has a way of dragging me into contests. Ever since we met, we've been
competing, knowingly or not. In the last couple of years, however, we've
started to make our contests quite formal, drawing out increasingly
complete rules and regulations before each start. In the beginning we also
set a prize, but both of us have soon realized that the real prize was
the
winning itself. Only when we'd drag some of our family or friends into one
of our contests, there would be a symbolic prize.

But not this time. Besides receiving the formal title of the best wife,
there was no other award, which is why I enjoyed the full formality of the
occasion. And of course, because it was hardly a secret that I was the
winner of the contest. Which was both a delight and a huge relief, because
I badly needed a victory. Recently, Marla had whooped my ass in both
tennis and golf, which I had introduced her to, but most importantly, she
made a fool out of me before my co-workers when she won the programmer's
challenge. I improved my record a little by winning what was called as
"other computer skills contest". While she obviously did a better job at
programming, I bested her at keeping track of various versions of
documents, organizing bits of information, retrieving data about contact
information, keeping track of schedules, etc. Winning the best wife title
alone wouldn't be enough to get me back into the lead, but a resounding
victory on her home turf would be more than welcome.

Curiously, the competition had started out between the three sisters, but
I was quickly drawn in to it, simply because of the fact that Marla was
competing somewhere. I was afraid I wouldn't be welcome in what I thought
was an intimate affair shared only by the sister, and their mother as the
referee, none of the contenders protested when I joined.

"The more the merrier," Joanne, my mother-in-law, said.

Whatever my wife does at home, I can do better, I thought and entered the
contest by symbolically donning a frilly apron. In no time, I was cooking
dinners, baking cakes, stewing broths, washing dishes, dusting rooms,
ironing linen with Marla, Janice and Stephanie, under the Joanne's close
scrutiny. Very soon in the game, I realized that it was not a contest on
my own terms - with a fixed set of rules defined at the very beginning -
when they changed the title to the "best wife contest". I didn't protest
though, the closer to Marla's home turf, the better, I though. In fact, it
was Stephanie who protested to the new name, on the grounds that she
wasn't married, and thus technically not a wife. The change wasn't in name
alone, as it turned out, and the competition events took on more and more
wifely attributes. Not only were we required to cook, clean, vacuum and
dust, but we had to do it in increasingly higher heels, increasingly
tighter skirts and other, often ridiculously restrictive garments that no
wife would probably wear at all, much less during cleaning her house.

Since I was more or less the same size as Marla, I borrowed her clothes at
first, and Stephanie's shoes. More often than not, I'd wear the exact
same
clothes as Marla, which was received quite favorably by the referee.

"Now that's a level playing field," she said.

For a while, Stephanie and Janice had to borrow Marla's clothes as well,
until Marla had enough and a new rule was added - the contestants must
compete wearing only their own clothes. It was at that point that I
started doubting the sense of the contest. Shopping for dresses and shoes
was no problem since I already knew what sizes I wore, but being fitted
for a corset made me seriously rethink whether I should carry on or not.

Not for long, though. A couple of taunts from Marla's side were enough to
get me back in the game, more serious than ever. After all, looking at the
total score thus far, I was far ahead of Marla, or her sisters. It would
be a shame to waste it.

When Joanne decided that a good wife should not only perfectly carry out
household chores wrapped in her stiff corsets, tight dresses and on her
high heels, but should do so with an air of elegance, I found my advantage
shrinking rapidly. However, I was determined to win the contest, and
after
mastering the art of make-up, styling my, by that time shoulder-length
hair, speaking in a feminine voice and generally wearing my new clothes
gracefully, I was back in a very comfortable lead.

The contest dragged longer than I had anticipated, and I did have to make
certain sacrifices to remain a competent contender. Beside spending a lot
on the clothes - near the end I practically needed a new outfit for every
event - I had also used up all of my vacation days in order to practice
for the events. But, like all things must come to an end, so did our
contest. There's no denying that it had cost me a lot, much more than the
other contestants, but the fact that I had secured my victory at least
three events before the finish made up for a good part of it.

As good as that felt, it was nothing compared to the excitement I felt as
I counted down the seconds from being announced the winner of the contest.
I took another look around the room. Everyone was dressed up in their
finest clothes. Janice was wearing an elegant full skirted sleeveless
dress, made in white silk that closed with a shirt-like collar around her
neck. Stephanie was looking feminine as ever in a knee length silk dress
with wide, billowing sleeves and a white polka dot print on a black
background. Marla, who came in second - but last in our own personal
contest - still humored us by dressing properly, although in a rather
simple, but still very beautiful red silk dress. Joanne, who insisted that
the event was a formal one despite the protests of everyone else but me,
was dressed the most beautifully of all. She was wearing a black chiffon
blouse over a black satin bustier and a very full floor length silk skirt.
I had to admit that even I, in my own full skirted burgundy taffeta gown
with a black chiffon and lace overlay, hardly come close to her. This
doesn't mean that my outfit went unnoticed, once I had put it on in the
privacy of Joanna's bedroom.

Finally, the wait was over.

"The winner of the best wife contest," Joanna announced, "is Caroline."

Despite the fact that my name was Carl, I knew that I was being announced
as the winner, since I'd been called - and responding to - the feminine
version of my name for a while. Excitedly, I hopped up to my feet, the
taffeta of my gown rustling as I did so. For a moment, I was surprised to
find Joanna taller than me again. During the contest I had gotten used to
the inch or two that my high heels gave me over her height, but now that
she was wearing heels herself, it was a "level playing field", as she
liked to say.

First Joanna congratulates me and draws me into her firm embrace. Then, I
stand next to her, facing the other contestants, beaming with pride. Even
now, I know that my appearance is immaculate, that my hair, now dyed
platinum blonde is framing my perfectly made-up face in a mass of tight
curls and that my quite expensive silicone breast forms are straining at
the bodice of my dress, making a very realistic image of a wife's chest.
Acting on an impulse, I pluck at the material of my skirts with the thumb
and index finger of each hand, and, placing my left foot behind the right,
drop a perfect curtsey.

Marla and her sisters clap enthusiastically, then get up to congratulate
me, making sure that there are no hard feelings between us. In the end,
Joanne presents me with the tiara that was promised to the winner.

We have a couple of drinks, but the formal atmosphere is disintegrating
rapidly. One after the other, Marla, Janice and Stephanie all change into
their day clothes which they wore on their way to Joanne's house.
Stephanie and Marla are in jeans and sweaters while Janice is wearing a
tartan skirt and a black blouse. Even Joanne, with her penchant for formal
attires, is now wearing white slacks and a pink silk blouse. In this
stark
contrast, my party dress makes me stand out unequivocally as the winner,
but this delight is short lived. Soon, Marla's sisters are on their way
home and after I've cleared up the table and tidied Joanna's living room,
it is time for us to go home, too.

The contest is, at last, over. My triumphant mood is swept away by a
feeling of exhaustion and I, despite the advice of both my wife and my
mother-in-law, decide not to take the dress off before going home. Partly
because I want to get as much out of my victory as I can, partly because
I'm too tired to change into the turquoise sweater and skirt set I wore
earlier. I do take off the tiara though.



By the time we get home, the triumphant mood has completely vanished, and
wearing my dress, my former statement of victory, now only feels plain
silly. If anything, it reminds me of the tremendous cost of my recent
victory. I have not only used up all of this year's vacation days, but
also a lot of the next year's, in advance. The wardrobe and the cosmetics
I was required to acquire for the demands of the competition has pretty
much drained up all my savings. But what is eating me the most at the
moment is that I have subjected my body to certain changes which I will
have to reverse before I put on men's clothes again. That said, reversing
some of them will take time, reversing others will take effort. I can't
really do anything but wear long legged and long sleeved clothes until my
body hair grows back. Thanks to the laser treatments and hormone creams
I've been using on my face, it will be an even longer time before my beard
starts to grow again, if at all. Same goes for my eyebrows, which I will
have to mask somehow. The effort will have to go into styling my hair into
a men's haircut. Drastic steps will have to be taken, because I know that
no mater how long I keep washing it, these curls aren't coming out. Not
to
mention the new color. My fingernails will take some serious filing before
they are back to a reasonable length, and free of both color and shine.
Removing my breast forms, which I attached very securely to my chest, will
be nothing but painful, and, if I don't get in time to the store which
sells the solvent for the adhesive, delayed until tomorrow.

The more I think about this, the sillier I feel, wearing my dress yet at
the same time, more and more reluctant to go through the actual process of
changing. When Marla proposes that instead of changing completely, I just
change into a different, less festive dress, I am as much shocked by her
proposal as I am relieved to get out of the dress without going through
the whole process of transformation.

Half an hour later, I am back in the living room, now wearing a green silk
dress with cute, puffed short sleeves. The knee length skirt is a little
tighter than I would like it to be, but at the same time I'm glad to have
swapped my corset for a much more comfortable white satin teddy, clipped
over my pearly white pantyhose that has replaced my black stockings. Of
course, black panties have no place in such an ensemble, though I whish I
had remembered that before I put everything on over them. The shoes I am
wearing are light beige suede pumps with three inch heels that are nicely
accentuated by my milky-coffee print scarf. Actually, the whole outfit is
a little dressier than I had originally intended, but on the other hand, I
have worn this, frankly speaking very expensive, dress only once before.

"What are you going to do with all of your pretty new clothes, honey?"
Marla asks me, as if reading my mind.

"I haven't given it a whole lot of thought," I reply, suddenly aware of
the girlishness of my voice. The competition is over and I can afford to
ignore all those tedious rules of proper deportment, but somehow, the idea
of speaking in my normal, manly voice seems strangely improper as long as
I am dressed like that.

"Well, you've had more important things on your mind," she says, "Anyway,
how do you feel?"

"Mostly tired," I confess, and pause for a bit.

"But good tired, you know? It feels good to even the score, especially
since I beat you on your own turf," I say and confidently lean back into
my chair, crossing my nylon-shod legs as I do so.

"You sure did, I'll give you that," she smiles, "You've sure proven who's
the most wifely between the two of us."

The way she says that makes me feel my confidence suddenly disappearing.

"I know that the contest is over, but while you're still dressed up as the
wife, why don't you make me a nice cup of coffee?" she continues.

It is kind of demeaning, but at the same time, I gladly take the
opportunity to get away from her for a second and regain my composure.



"Thank you, Carol," she says as bring her the steaming cup on a silver
tray with the mandatory lace doily, and all the confidence I've been
building up is shattered by her use of my female name.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask you before, but you seemed so
engrossed in the contest I didn't want to disturb your concentration," she
says, "But now that it's over, I guess there won't be any harm."

She pauses for a second, looking at me.

"What exactly is the point of these contests we've been having?" she
finally asks.

"What do you mean?" I ask wearily, feeling the full impact of her words.
There I am, dressed up completely like a woman, dress, heels and makeup,
my whole body hairless, my eyebrows plucked, my hair permanently curled
and she, the instigator of the competition, is implying that the contest
was pointless?

"You know what it was about," I mutter.

"Of course," she says, "But I want to make sure that you know."

"It was about who makes the better housewife," I say, feeling more and
more ridiculous by the second.

"Yes," she says, pausing for a moment, "Okay, let me ask you this way -
what should we do with the knowledge obtained from this contest?"

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," I say, pushing a stray lock of hair
behind my left ear.

"Let me give you an example," she says, "Tell me, what did we learn in the
last two contests?"

"I uh..." I begin, then a thought crosses my mind. Despite still feeling the
ridiculousness of my outfit, I can feel a tiny surge of confidence as I
remember my latest victory.

"I guess that we learned I can whoop your ass in basic computer skills any
day," I say triumphantly.

"Okay, I guess," Marla sighs, "You can look at it this way. What I learned
is that while you suck at object programming, you do posses certain
secretarial skills. Am I right?"

As soon as it came, the confidence is gone again.

"I guess you can look at it this way, too," I humbly reply.

"I do," she says, "Now the question is, what do you intend to do with the
knowledge."

"I... I don't know," I say, "Get a book on Visual Basic?"

"That might help, a little," she says, "But to tell you the truth, I asked
you that only because I wanted to see if you understand what I'm trying
to
tell you. The question itself is more of a moot point."

"Huh? Why?" I ask.

"Well you see, while you were busy mincing around the house on your high
heels, and making yourself look ladylike in your pretty dresses, I put
this knowledge into action," she says, "Want to know how?"

With a dry mouth, I nod.

"I had a word with your boss and told her that perhaps she should
reconsider who she gives the position of chief developer to," she says,
"After that debacle at your office it didn't take much to convince Sarah
to hire me instead of you."

"You what?" I gulp, "So, what, now you're working in my office?"

"I wouldn't say so," she says, "Because it's not your office anymore,
sweetie."

"You took my job?" I almost cry.

"Not without getting you another one," she says calmly, "Shirley from my
old office has recently been promoted and the boss is looking for a new
secretary. The job's yours if you want it."

I can only stare numbly at her.

 "Sarah would never fire me," I finally mumble.

"No?" she says, "Maybe you should check your work email every once in a
while, even if you're on vacation leave."



As fast as my tight skirt will allow me, I run to my computer and after
what has really been too long, turn it on to check my office email. Sure
enough, there is a series of emails from Sarah, calling me with increasing
urgency to reply until the last one which says I needn't bother replying,
or coming back to the office for that matter.



"Don't cry, sweetie," Marla says as she hugs me. I can't help it and give
in to my emotions, but after a while, I'm alright again and we return to
the living room.

"Well, in case you do want the job," she says, "You have an interview
scheduled tomorrow at ten."

"Okay," I say weakly, then I glance at the clock on the wall. It's five to
one, five minutes until closing time on Sunday. I've completely forgot
about getting the solvent and now there's no way I can get there in time.
Moreover, the store is closed on Mondays.

"Oh, shit," I mutter under my breath.

"Something wrong, sweetie?" she asks.



Depends on how you look at it, honey. But your two questions? What will I
do with the knowledge I got from the contest? And what will I do with my
new clothes? Let's just say that one question answers the other.