According to a recent news report, archeologists have made quite the compelling discovery in the north of England. They found a male skeleton, dating back to the 4th century A.D., attired in women’s clothes and jewelry.

One expert maintained, “In life he would have been regarded as a transvestite and was probably a gallus, one of the followers of the goddess Cybele who castrated themselves in her honor.”

Hoping to understand this more fully, I looked up the word “gallus.” My dictionary reports it means suspenders. Unless this cross-dressing eunuch spent his days holding up other men’s pants, I think I need a new dictionary.

This discovery in Yorkshire is the first of its kind in all of Britain.

But not the last, I’m thinking.

Consider what could happen centuries after Elton John has gone to his reward. Future archeologists opening his grave will dust off platform shoes, boas, and super-sized eyeglasses. One will pronounce, “In life he would have been regarded as flamboyant and was probably a musician, one of the followers of the goddess Grammy who prostrated themselves in her honor.”

Archeologists toiling on this side of the pond will dig into the past as well. I can picture them unearthing a female skeleton dressed in a uniform. They will also discover a gun, handcuffs, and a button reading “I Love the Gay Officer’s Action League.”

“No doubt about it,” one excavator will declare. “This find dates back a long, long time. She was a lesbian cop in the days before all police work was turned over to them.”

I can also imagine a grave holding the remains of a tall male dressed from head to high-tops in a professional basketball uniform. Buried with him will be a stack of love letters written to him by a man on another team.

“This changes history, Myron!” one expert gushes to another. “These letters reveal the secret Jamahl took with him to his grave: He hated playing power forward!”

Archeologists might well discover a cavernous grave site loaded to the gills with women’s clothes, wigs, shoes, accessories and makeup. The male skeleton wears a green sequined evening dress with matching shoes and purse.

“This rivals the pharaohs, doesn’t it, Jeff?” asks one.

“Indeed. I’d say this is one of the wonders of the ancient world.”

“How he was able to be buried with all this?”

“How he was able to get a size 12 foot into a size 8 shoe.”

Scholars will flock to a female’s not-so-final resting place, after it’s accidentally exposed by a pumpkin farmer. The body, wrapped in a rainbow shroud, will be surrounded by buttons and bumper stickers with slogans like “Love Makes A Family,” and “Gay By Nature, Proud By Choice.”

Following a national debate, all the paraphernalia will go to the Smithsonian, and the body will be reinterred in Provincetown in the Tomb of the Unknown Activist.

I can easily imagine the excitement when experts uncover a rather simple grave, containing the remains of a male. Attached to the man’s tee-shirt, which reads “He asked, I told,” is a Purple Heart.

“You know what we have here, don’t you Deborah?” one antiquarian asks of another.

“A man who was purged from the military for being gay?”

“Certainly not. What, did you study at the Acme School of Archeology? This is a car salesman who received a medal for being the first in his business to tell the truth.”

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