A conspiracy theory?

Everyone is talking about my new boss. They say she is not quite what she makes herself out to be. She is not corrupt or anything; no unpaid TV licenses or undeclared ownership of multinational companies. She is not licking God’s arse to be liked; she is not smiling to convince her team to work for her. She is not stupid. It’s just I think she is a man.

The first day I met her, she was wearing a dark green combat suit. I said hello and then I did not find anything else to say but “oh, that is a combat suit”. She said “yes”, quite militantly and without a smile. I wanted to ask her how her weekend was, but the combat suit killed it for me. Her thin Scandinavian hair looked even shorter than on the images I had seen of her on Google. Why do middle-aged women cut their hair short? Is it because it stops growing; or because they want to distinguish themselves from youth; from young pretty girls?

I am not the only one to believe that Mrs C is actually Mr H. My colleague in the legal service told me she’d heard it was a way for Mrs C to slip in, unnoticed, into the unfilled female quota of the College. I know it’s true that God from the 13^th floor addressed the leaders of our continent with the following words: “Dear men and leaders of our continent, this year it is women or nothing. Give me women, and in return I will offer you the reign over our farms, fish and tractors; our crisis, crowns and wastelands.

Blackmailing? I guess you could call it such. But the thing is, it really seemed to have worked. Suddenly everyone and their dog in the governments of our continent wanted to be a woman. Women with fake breasts or nasty surprises in the crotch region after sharing the lift with a long-legged blonde stagiaire. Or real female flesh and blood; flabby middle-aged lady flesh. God didn’t care about which – as long as you could label yourself woman.

Against this, it may seem like showing up in a combat suit is sort of taking unnecessary risks. You know, suspicions confirmed; masculinity declared.

But “Mrs C” is smarter than that. I have only known her for five days but I already know she only does things for a reason. My secretary thinks she is using inverse psychology, you know like telling everyone I’m so much like a man that you would never guess I’m really a man. Some might wonder whether a combat suit is appropriate when you will work on immigration issues. I don’t know, maybe I’m exaggerating. Maybe there is nothing fishy in Mrs C’s pants. Maybe this is all a big conspiracy theory created by those rumour-spreading media bastards. They have nothing to write about, and so – POOF – they create a transvestite amongst the future rulers of our continent.