The synthetic fibers of the wig tickled Chad's forehead, an unfamiliar sensation that made him want to scratch. He resisted the urge, remembering the strict instructions: "Don't touch anything. Don't draw attention. Just be natural." As if any of this could be natural.

Chad adjusted the shoulder bag strap, feeling the slight weight of it against his floral top. The cream-colored fabric with its delicate pattern of roses felt entirely wrong against his skin. Below it, the elastic-waist butterfly skirt swished against his thighs with every step, a constant reminder of his predicament. The patterned tights underneath were already starting to feel uncomfortably warm in the afternoon sun.

The pharmacy was just ahead, its familiar blue and white sign seeming to mock him from across the parking lot. Cars lined up in front of the strip mall like metal beasts watching his approach. Each step on the hot asphalt felt like a journey toward judgment.

A mother with two small children passed by, pushing a shopping cart. Chad's heart hammered against his ribs as he forced a small smile, turning his head slightly to show off the soft makeup someone had carefully applied to his face. The earrings dangled, catching the light. He could feel them moving with every step.

"Nothing to see here," he thought, the words becoming a mantra in his mind. "I'm just a woman running errands. Nothing unusual."

The automatic doors slid open with a whoosh of cool air. Chad stepped inside, the fluorescent lights making him feel suddenly exposed. He scanned the aisles, trying to remember where the feminine products would be located. His palms were sweating inside the tan flats.

A teenager stocking shelves glanced his way, then quickly looked back at her work. Had she noticed? Did she see through the disguise? Chad's throat felt tight as he walked past, maintaining what he hoped was a casual pace.

"I'm a woman," he repeated silently. "Nothing to see here."

He found the aisle with the feminine products and tried to appear nonchalant as he examined the different options. Pads, tampons, liners-so many choices. Why had this particular task been assigned to him? The humiliation burned hot in his cheeks.

Selecting a package, he clutched it to his chest as if it were a shield and made his way to the checkout counter. The cashier-a bored-looking woman with too much eyeliner-scanned his items without a second glance.

"Will that be all?" she asked, her voice flat.

Chad nodded, unable to trust his voice to sound feminine enough. He paid quickly, grabbed the plastic bag, and practically fled the store.

The walk back to the car felt longer than the journey in. Every car seemed to contain someone staring at him. Every pedestrian appeared to be analyzing his appearance, searching for the tell-tale signs that he wasn't who he appeared to be.

He reached the car and fumbled with the keys, his hands shaking slightly. Finally inside, he locked the doors and took a deep breath. The wig was itching again. The makeup felt like a mask. The clothes were a costume.

As he pulled out of the parking lot, Chad caught his reflection in the rearview mirror. A stranger looked back-a woman with curly brown hair, soft features, and eyes that held a secret.

"I'm a woman," he whispered to himself, the words barely audible. "Nothing to see here."

And then he drove home, carrying not just pads in a plastic bag, but the weight of a deception that was becoming heavier with each passing mile.

The drive back to the pharmacy was worse than the first time. The mint pumps felt unfamiliar on the pedals, and the small heels made his feet slide. Chad's fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he clutched the box of pads in his lap. The V-neck floral top revealed more of his chest than he was comfortable with, and the scarlet makeup felt like a beacon announcing his presence to the world.

"I'm a woman...Nothing to see here," he repeated to himself, but the words felt less convincing this time. The checked print A-line skirt was shorter than the previous one, ending at his knees, and the patterned suntan tights offered little protection from the judging eyes he imagined were watching him.