Bathroom Monologue: Crossdressers for Rights

The airline knew something was up, but you couldn’t do anything about it. The ladies didn’t protest at the metal detectors or pat downs, even the 6’4” ones who were very obviously not women. There were thirty in the party, all in sundresses, some with unshaved legs, many with masculine cheekbones. Three were downright gorgeous slender goddesses, but they had ‘M’ stamped on their passports like their friends. They giggled and chattered, putting up no fight at an additional security check. There was no reason not to let thirty friendly, paying customers on the plane, and so they boarded. Maybe it was a transvestite support group heading on a French vacation. The thirty had booked their seats specifically so that they took up half the plane. Everyone seated to the left of the aisle was a man in heels. They groaned and kicked off their heels as soon as they sat down. They watched the demonstrations, buckled safely, and joked about floatation implants. They took drinks and talked amongst themselves, only murmuring about their mission. The flight attendants knew something was up, but what, they couldn't say. They had to take off. Only once they got into French air space did the ladies let it slip, thirty ladies reaching into their carry-ons and putting on burkas. They scared the heck out of the pilots and other passengers, despite being cheery and remaining in their seats. They landed and were met by very confused police nationale. After they were released from detainment they told reporters, still wearing their floral dresses and black veils, that it was only illegal for women to cover their heads in this country, but no matter what you felt about it, men should wear anything to make a point.