Shock waves shuddered through Middle Earth this day as it was revealed that Gimli, Gloin’s son, is really Gimla, Gloin’s Daughter.

Asked why she perpetrated the deception the shy beauty could say only, “The Devil made me do it.”

Dear Readers, this is no answer.  For one thing, the Devil does not figure in The Lord of the Rings at all.  Had the blushing Gimla named Sauron, Dark Lord of Mordor as the impetus behind her masquerade, I could have accepted it.  Had she claimed to be under the spell of the Istari Curunir, aka Saruman, I would have believed her.

But the Devil? Give me a break.

Knowing that enquiring minds want to know, I put all my reporterly skills to work and, hot on the scent of the truth, cornered Gimla in the Ladies’ room of the Beverly Hilton. 

She was at the mirror, staring pensively at her reflection, absently combing her beard.  The lights caught the glint of gold in her hair and beard, and brought out the lovely colour of her eyes.

“You know,” I said, confidentially, “with just a little help, you could really make something of yourself.”

“Oh, I know,” she said.  “You think I should shave off my beard.  That’s what everyone says, and I’m getting really tired of it, you know?”

“Well, what I had in mind was more to do with your clothes,” I said.  “The beard…..well…..it’s Ethnic, isn’t it?  Your culture and everything?”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” she asked, with a pout.  “I paid big bucks for this dress.”  She ignored the comment about Ethnicity and Culture, and turned around, letting the skirt of her dress swirl fetchingly around her stumpy legs.

“I can see it’s an expensive dress,” I replied soothingly, “but the colour….well.  Let’s be frank, Gimla.  The colour does nothing for you.”  That was the least of it, Dear Readers.  The colour was wrong, the cut was wrong, the fit was wrong…….no, no. Ms. Gimla Gloin’s daughter needed the Fashion Police, and pronto!!

“Tell you what, Gimla,” I said, close to the shell-like ear I was sure had to be there under all that hair.  “I’ll help you with your----ah----frock, if you give me the real lowdown on why you pretended to be a man….ah….er…..a male Dwarf.”

“I told you guys,” she said, defensively.  “The Devil made me do it!”

“Now, look here, Gimla.  Don’t peddle that stuff to me!  It’s horsefeathers, and you know it.”  I leaned close.  “I think I can guess, Gimla.  I think the reason is a tall, blond Elf named……Legolas!!!!!”

Her face went pale, or at least the part of her face that wasn’t covered with hair. “How did you guess!” she gasped.

“Oh,” I said.  “I watched you, when he was around.  Don’t worry, Gimla.  I promise your secret is safe with me.”  (I crossed my fingers when I said that, Dear Readers, so my promise doesn’t count.)

She burst into tears, which dripped off the ends of her whiskers.  “I’m crazy about him!  And my Dad wouldn’t let me go.  So I thought, to heck with you, Dad, I’m going!  So I traded clothes with my cousin Fili, the one with the pink beard?  And so…here I am!”

Here she is, indeed.  Crying her eyes out in the Ladies’ room, as so many of us have in our lives.  Confiding her innermost feelings to another woman, as so many of us have.  Doesn’t it just show you, Sisters?  That Sisterhood is so wonderful, and everything?  It makes me feel Proud to be a Woman.

But I’m a Reporter first, Dear Readers, and as usual, I got the Story!!!!!

“I’ve been mad about him for years,” Gimla confessed, drying her eyes, and sitting on the edge of the counter, her short, thick legs swinging.  “Ever since I first saw him, you know?  It’s---oh, it’s just everything!  His hair.  And those blue eyes.  No, those brown eyes.  Well, his eyes, anyway.”  She pulled a tattered photo out of her pocket.  “Look.  See?  It’s him----and me, there in the background?  That was at the Oasis concert last year.  He went with some Elf-girl, and I went with my cousin Fili.  I only went because I knew Legolas would be there!  And he never even noticed me.  Not even when I spilled my Coke down his back and got my bracelet tangled in his hair.  Oh, I tried everything!”

I shook my head.  “You poor kid.  You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?”

She sighed.  “What can I do?  Do you really think a different dress will make him notice me?”

“Absolutely,” I said.  “Come on, kiddo.  We’re going shopping!”

~~~~~~~~~                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three hours later, a transformed Gimla pirouetted in front of the Mirror of Galadriel in the funky boutique called “Lostlorien?”  Her beard was braided with red and blue beads, her cropped top revealed a diamond belly button stud and a lot of Dwarven bosom, her bare arms sported dozens of bangles, her red leather mini-skirt was only just legal (any shorter and she would have been arrested).   Her feet were encased in knee-high Doc Martens, and the thick soles made her just that little bit taller.  Her hair was piled up and twisted around more beads, and Turquoise Frost eyeshadow brought out the Brown of her eyes.  Given the beard, there wasn’t much use in Lipstick, but what the hey?  We went with Ruby Glitter, and it did something fabulous to her lips.  Nearly…..

She was a Vision.  Well, she was a Sight, anyway.   The owner of  “Lostlorien?” is my old chum Sammy, and he was as proud as punch at the transformation he had wrought in Gimla.

“She’s a hottie,” he said.  “She’s gonna set a lotta hearts a-burnin’, let me tell you!”

“Only one heart interests her,” I whispered to Sammy.  “You know who.”

“Oh, no,” he moaned.  “Not another Legsy lover?”

“You got it, Sammy,” I said.

He shrugged.  “Well, all I can say is, who knows?  Maybe this is the one he’s been waiting for.”

Dear Readers, that is where it stands right now.  Who knows indeed?  Is Gimla the one Legolas has been waiting for?  Is Gimla the one he will sail to the Blessed Realm with? 

Such questions cannot be answered by a mere Reporter, not even one as Mere as me.  There you have it.  Gimla’s secret revealed, and I was right.

The Devil had nothing to do with it.