Scribe's POV

"No."

I look at Lois calmly. "You are not coming with me on this shopping expedition."

"But Scribe, I can help you pick out..."

"I said no. Look, Lois, I know how to dress like a girl. I just don't do it. Lots of people know how to play the piano, but never do more than noodle with `Chopsticks'."

"What?"

"Good God, you don't have `Chopsticks'?! You know, `Dum dum dum dum dum dum, dum dum dum dum dum dum, DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM, DUM, dum dum dum dum. Dum dum dum dum dum dum, dum dum dum dum dum dum..."

"I get the picture!"

"Anyway, you're not coming. This is gonna be a total surprise, to everyone. Including me."

That meant going incognito. Because, ya see, it wasn't all that easy to go out any more without... er, collecting an entourage.

It would start out normally enough. Then there'd be whispering, and nudging. Then pointing, and not whispering. Then following. Have you got any idea how weird it is when people are concerned about what type of canned pork and beans you buy? (Van Camps, by the way)?

Eventually someone would get up enough nerve to come over and ask me to sign an autograph. Now, generally I didn't mind that. I only signed `Eleanor Roosevelt' to those who were obnoxious about it. But I have to admit, I really didn't enjoy signing those `unofficial biographies'. My God, the history they gave me! I had no idea I was the love child of the strong man in a traveling circus. Mom never said anything, and I can't help but wonder if Dad knew.

Also the requests to sign body parts always freaked me out a little.

Lately, I'd been feeling a twinge of sympathy for Michael Jackson. Now, that's weird.

Okay, disguises, disguises... A dress would have gone a long way toward throwing people off the scent, but one of the main points of my existence was staying out of dresses, so that was off.

I solved part of it by making a request to Clive. He sent over a lovely, long platinum blonde wig. I had thought something in a subdued brown would be more effective, but he explained that people would be blinded by the gleam, and ignore my face.

But, just to be on the safe side, I decided to try the one thing that I was relatively positive would make me absolutely unidentifiable to the people of this world.

I put on a pair of glasses.

Lois had a pair with a very, very weak prescription that she used for reading. Ice blue kittycat frames. *squeal!* I loved them.

I got into my gear and left the apartment that morning, wondering nervously if this was going to work. I tested it out by going to a local diner for breakfast.

The waitress didn't break her neck to serve me. I wasn't offered a meal on the house. She neglected to keep my water glass filled, got my eggs wrong, and it took ten minutes to get my check. Hallelujah! I was being treated like a normal person again! I was right. Glasses did cause some form of selective blindness over here.

I sallied forth with a lot more sally in my forth than there had been in a long time.

Okay, I'll admit it. It... it was... It was... kindafunshoppingforgirlystuff.

I didn't say that, I never will say that, you can't prove I said that, and I'll deny it to my last breath. Buuuuuut....

I got the easy stuff first: a *shudder* girdle (shame they didn't have a rental policy, cause I only intended to wear that booger once), and hose.

I located a pair of slipper type shoes. No damn heels, not even if the president, the pope, and Elvis Presley were going to be present.

Underpinnings taken care of, it was time to go for the raison d'etre (hey, I gotta get some use out of that $36.95 I spent on the `Learn French in 10 Easy Lessons' tape. Ever notice how they never teach you swear words in those courses? Are they trying to protect their rude countrymen from being attacked by irrate bilingual tourists?) of the expedition.

I hit the formal wear sections. Hoo. Boy. Lemme tell ya. We are talking some out and out torture garments here. Most designed for people roughly the size of a twelve year old anorexic Olympic gymnast. Male.

And expensive? Well, not by 2001 standards, but we're talking salary crunchers by fifties or sixties pay scales.

I'd hit a half dozen stores, and hadn't come up with anything remotely feasible. Then I got an idea. It still wouldn't be cheap, but it would be a hell of a lot less expensive than buying something off the rack.

I made another underwear purchase, and I stopped at a sewing shop, a hobby shop, and an interior design shop. Yeah, and I'm not telling you what I got at any of them, either. You'll just have to wait and see.

When I got back to the apartment, Lois came out of the back, saying, "You certainly got up early this..." She trailed off, glaring at me. "Who are you, and what the hell are you doing in my apartment?" I took off the wig. She looked puzzled. I took off the glasses. She blinked. "Scribe!"

"Ye-ah."

"My God, that was a brilliant disguise! What did you do to yourself?"

"Ya know, Lois, I'm not sure. Maybe I've developed a secret power from my passage through the dimensional rift, and now I should use it for the forces of good."

"Really?"

"No."

I decided that it was a good thing that I was on the side of law and order, cause I could have put on a pair of specs and robbed every bank in Metropolis without fear of being recognized afterward.

Lois swooped on the department store bags immediately, which gave me time to sneak the other bags into my room. When I came back out, she was nodding approval at my selection of undergarments, and hose. "Now where's the dress?" I smiled at her. "Scribe, I want to see your dress."

"Uh uh. It's going to be a surprise."

"Oh, lord, not another Scribe surprise."

"I'm hurt. You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Erm. I just want to be sure you're properly attired."

"I will be legal."

*sigh* "I should know better. It's just that there are going to be a lot of important people there."

"Important to who?"

"Ah. Yes. Well, you're right about that, I guess. You'll never guess who I just found out will be attending, all the way from Gotham city!"

"Don't tell me, let me guess. Batman." "

No. Bruce Wayne. You know the millionaire playboy philanthropist. My, that's a pleased grin."

"Tell me, do you think he'll bring Ro... I mean, Richard Greyson with him?"

"Dick? Maybe. It isn't on a school night. What are you grinning about now?"

"I'm just wondering. Chris O'Donnell, or Burt Ward? Michael Keaton, Adam West, Val Kilmer, or George Clooney? I'm hoping for Chris and George, myself, no disrespect meant to Adam and Burt. It's just, those molded, rubberized suits... grrrrrr."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just being true to my `dirty old broad' frame of mind, Lo. I just hope that this is going to be one instance where this world doesn't follow it's other world comic counterparts."

"Why is that?"

"Because every other gala charity event I've ever seen in comics, television or comic inspired movie gets crashed by some sort of super villain. And I'm not gonna want to have to run in a formal dress."