And I hadn't sung a note!For some reason it struck me funny; I just burst out laughing, and waved vaguely at the pianist to stop him. "Sorry," I said,...still chuckling. "Can we try that again?"Nobody else was laughing, but I didn't care. The unexpected glitch had taken all my nerves away, now I was just charged up. And this time when my musical cue arrived I came in precisely on the beat, softly at first the way the aria dictates, but then straight into my first run-up at full voice.I didn't. .....and I'm not sure what. It's only when I cup my hands that I realize Ican look down.I don't. I stare at the mirror, and at my hands. It turns out "the backof my hand" isn't just an expression. I know what my hands look like andthese are not them. I can see their reflection in the mirror, see themirror hands almost touching mine.It's not just because I'm a Gen-B. My hands would be different anyway, Iknow that.But these are definitely a woman's hands. Dainty, pointed, feminine.I put my head. More

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