One, I might add, was of my own making.I was 41 then and I had to admit that this little Thanksgiving thing of mine was becoming a disgusting ritual. ... wasn't sure if I could bring myself to do it again. I'd been working since before dawn on that Thanksgiving Day in the homeless shelter, helping to prepare the dinning room and side dishes for the day's handout.My normal routine was to dish out food all day long and then grab a willing man outside the building and take him home. For some reason,. As I come out of the shower, James is sitting at his make-up tableputting on his make-up, wearing an alice band to keep hair out of hisface. I quietly chuckle at the fact that I'm pairing male pronouns withwords I never have - his make-up, his skirt, his large hoop earrings.As I'm getting dressed he starts blow drying and brushing his hair.James turns off his hair dryer, and starts to put his hair in a bun. Isubtly watch this because I've never put my hair in a bun, well, not areally neat one,. More

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