Mrs Tiresias opens with a bewildering confession: a man left for his walk and returned home as a woman. She details his attire—gardening kecks, an open‑necked shirt, a Harris tweed jacket she patched—and his habit of whistling while waiting for the first cuckoo of spring before writing to The Times. She notes she often heard the cuckoo before him and sensed a sudden heat at the back of her knees as a faint thunder rolled in the woods. The man‑turned‑woman arrives late; while she brushes her hair and runs a bath, a face mirroring her own swims into view, the shirt’s V exposing breasts. When he utters her name in a woman’s voice, she faints.

She fabricates a story that the person is a twin, with the sister living with her while the original works abroad. She initially cares for the sibling—blow‑drying hair, lending clothes, holding the new soft shape in her arms—until “he” begins a period. She describes a week in bed, two doctors, four daily painkillers, and a demanding letter for twelve weeks of fully paid menstrual leave. She still sees the pale face peering at the moon through the bathroom window, hearing a curse that warns against public kisses.

After the split, she glimpses the transformed person entering glamorous restaurants on powerful men’s arms or speaking on TV as a woman claiming to understand women’s feelings. She despises the voice, describing it as a “cling peach slithering out from its tin.” Finally, she recounts meeting her lover at a glittering ball, describing the lover’s violet eyes, blazing skin, the slow caress on the back of her neck, the bite of fruit‑like lips, and the clash of sparkling rings and painted nails as they shake hands.