... ten paces, turn left at the swing-set

... ten paces, turn left at the swing-set and start digging. I cleared away the cedar chips and found a pink shoe-box that I had buried there in 1987...

Lifting the box lid, I saw a pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses, some dusty cassette tapes - including U2's Joshua Tree, the Dirty Dancing soundtrack - and a pair of jelly shoes.

This corpse was from the late 80's for sure. I scooped it up out of the coffin and carried up to the funeral parlor's break room. My plan was bleak and twisted but also inspired.

I would dress this late 80's corpse like me, leave it at my desk, and get payed overtime. I wanted graveyard shift money. The funeral parlor's boss knew I didn't wear spandex mini

I soon understood why. Gunther von Hagens, who had overseen the construction of my dopplecadaver, had devised a dead moi with an improved physique, a better rack, tighter buns.

It was not meant as a snub to me, perhaps I could take it that way, but I knew the limits of my own body well enough. Instead, I was to be the bait. Naturally, I needed sex appeal.

So I teased my platinum blonde hair up, painted my lips red & put on my white halter-style dress. Then I stood right over the grate of the sidewalk & pretended to be surprised when

a garbage truck nearly ran me down. "Git outta da way, lady!" one partcularly burly garbageman shouted at me. But I stood my ground, hot air blowing my dress up, revealing my true

identity-- I was a man. The garbageman's jaw dropped. He was in shock. But I didn't care anymore. My days of cross dressing had only begun.