My Three Sons 5-8: From Head To Toe free porn video

{Caveat: This story happens on an alternative world, not the one of the original TV series.} My Three Sons Chapters 5-8: From Head to Toe The Year of the High Concept By Ron Dow75 5) I Thought of Bugs Bunny Cartoon Titles "That is not the style," Miss Helga, the young mod salesclerk in the wig department, told the 'much older' woman. "That 'do' is so 'don't', it's not even a counter statement." The beige blonde in the tailored tweed dress suit with the blue trim adjusted the ash blond wig, and pulled it down, again, over the teenage woman's head. "We are not interested in making any statements," she said as she stood back to look at her 'creation', "...other than 'I am a lovely, and well mannered daughter of a mover in the business world'." "There's got to be more of an angle in there than that." Tammy Douglas sat in one of the swivel chairs between the counter and the hutch of shelves. She felt uncomfortable in the wig. She felt uncomfortable in the double-knit dress. She felt uncomfortable in the lacey bra and panties. She felt grateful that she was in a woman's body, or all that other stuff would make her feel... worse than she already felt. If he were a guy, he would have a big knot in his chest. Now, it was in his belly. Miss MacDonald turned the chair, pointing her to a mirror on the glass counter. Helga was right. Miss MacDonald was right. The girl Tammy saw did not look like a happening chick. She had on a bouffant. Definitely not 1966; more like pre-Beatles and the British Invasion. It was for those who thought that Philadelphia was still a center of pop culture. "Isn't it hot under all that hair?" asked the young girl in thick, black glasses and in boy's jeans and shirt, her elbows resting on the other side of the counter. "Actually, hair is an insulator, Winnie," Tammy told her. "If you're saying it keeps your head cool, I want high hair, too." "'Insulation' doesn't mean it keeps it cool, Winnie," Jesse shook her head; the other girl in boy's (now tight) jeans and (now draped) shirt was standing on the 'inside' of the counter, but back away from Miss MacDonald. "It means if you got a hot head, it'll stay hot." "Oh; then I want low hair." "May I suggest a fall?" the clerk in the platinum blond hair suggested. "What?" Steve Douglas said, finally taking his eyes off of the final transformation (dress, makeup, and now, hair), of his eldest-except-for-everything-son Mike. He was standing at the end of the counter, reluctant to enter. "For your youngest: Hair that is not worn as a wig, but, rather, is pinned on." "'Pinned'!? Won't that hurt?!" Winnie asked. "Winnie, do you actually think girls would go around poking themselves on purpose?" Jesse asked. "I don't know what girls do; but I know they do a lot of dumb things. I wouldn't put it past them to go sticking pins in themselves, like voodoo dolls." "If anybody's a voodoo doll..." Jesse mumbled. "Here," Miss Helga said, turning around from one of the drawers beneath the shelves of wig holders. She held some hair that was about Winnie's brunet color. "Hey, gross," Winnie said. "It looks like a scalp you see in westerns." "Yeah," Jesse said. "It's a good thing those movies aren't realistic." "You take this hairpin," the young woman who obviously knew about wigs said, "and use it to attach the fall to your own hair. There you go, instant hair." "It looks almost like a bobby pin," Winnie said. "Winnie, you're a girl. Girls wear bobby pins, and stuff like this," Jesse told her new sister, "You saw Miss MacDonald pin Tammy's wig on." "Yeah; well, I'd rather wear a wig. That isn't going to be much of a disguise." "I'll take it," Jesse said. "It looks like it'll be less trouble to put on. I never did like to wear hats, anyway." "A wig's not a hat, is it?" Winnie asked. "It depends on how you define 'hats'," Tammy said, seeing just how secure the net with the hair attached was. She found out that wasn't the best thing to do, with all those pins. Maybe she would map them out, when she took them out. "I'm sorry; Jesse, was it?" Miss MacDonald said. "But a ponytail just won't look right with your hair the way it is." "A ponytail? Is that what that hair is?" Jesse said. "Of course, I could show you how to make it look more correct," she said, moving on her, now. "You brush it back," the woman said, demonstrating with her fingers through Jesse's hair. "Bring the back up... draw it all together and pin it... spray it, to make sure it will hold, even when strands escape..." "There's another good reason to wear a wig. You don't have to mess with brushes and sprays, and all that other stuff I see them do when I've peeked in a beauty parlor." "You've 'peeked into a beauty parlor'?" Tammy almost smiled. "There's one on the way to school, and another on the way to the park, and a third one just up the block from that one. It's like there's a conspiracy to get curious kids to look." "It just means that women spend a lot of time and money to get their hair done," Tammy said. "Why do that, when they can get wigs and skip all that?" "Well, for one thing, it would put a lot of people out of work, and not just the beauticians." "'Beauticians'? Makes them sound like 'technicians'." "They are," Miss MacDonald smiled, who was finishing up spraying Jesse's hair, and was now accepting a pin from the clerk. "Beauty is a science, though most women treat it like art." "Art?" Jesse asked, feeling ever more girly with her hair being rearranged like this. "...And you know the state of modern art," Tammy smiled. "That's just what I would have said," Miss MacDonald said, accepting a hairpin and a fall that matched Jesse's dishwater blond hair almost perfectly. "I thought so. I'm beginning to figure out how you think," Tammy said. "Does that mean you're beginning to think like a female?" Winnie asked, not liking the idea. "Let us hope so. With your father's permission, I can become an excellent example of how the daughters of a rising executive should comport themselves," she said while giving Jesse her new ponytail. "What?" their father asked. "What's the matter, Dad? You've hardly said a thing," Tammy asked. "Oh, haven't I? I guess I'm just trying to get used to you having long hair." "I've thought of getting long hair," Jesse said, looking down into another mirror. "That's becoming the thing for kids." "Not at your age," her father informed her. "Long hair on a girl is always appropriate," Miss MacDonald informed Steven. "You don't have long hair," Winnie pointed out. "I am hardly a 'girl'," Miss MacDonald said, patting the permed part of her beige hair that escaped from under her blue velvet hat. "Unfortunately, if one has any sense, one must admit that she must move on, and project a more mature mien." "That means short hair?" Winnie asked, trying to figure it out. "I'll try to explain to you later, Winnie," her Dad told her. "When will we have time? I have a bunch of other questions, too." "And, at the other end of the spectrum, we have the children. (Steven Douglas listened, trying to learn.) Long hair on you, my pretty little girl, would just get in the way. Unless, of course, you want pigtails," She smiled on this last sentence; and she leaned towards Winnie, and said, "It would be the traditional way to meet the boys." "Boys? I don't remember boys caring anything about pigtails, other than pulling them." "There. See?" she winked. "I see," Winnie's mood changing. "I'm the girl now. I definitely don't want pigtails. Or anything else that might get pulled." (Steve remembered.) "I have a cute little 'Dutch Boy' that may be to your liking," Miss Helga suggested. "A 'Dutch boy', on a girl?" Winnie asked. "Maybe I should get the 'Dutch Boy'," Jesse said, shaking her head again, and feeling the weight and snake of the ponytail. "Absolutely not. Not at your age, young lady. This is the time of your life when you must 'show your colors', as it were. Your hair is your matador's cape, attracting the young Toro's gaze as you finesse it about." (Her father had conflicting feelings about this imagery.) "I definitely don't want long hair," Jesse said. "Yes, you do," Tammy said. "Since we're female, we have to be female. No stopping half-way, and getting stuck in mid- stream." "Just how 'female' do we have to get!?!" "You're good and decent people from a respectable family," her Dad told her. "Whew! Then, we don't have to be that female," Jesse said with relief. "But we have to be female enough for the girls," Winnie said, wrinkling her nose. "That's what the lady in the Young Miss department kept telling us." "I still wish I didn't have to be," Jesse said. "Er, Jesse, just how long, or short, do the girls in your class wear their hair?" her Dad asked. Jesse thought about it, and, then thought about lying. Boy, you'd think since he was no longer a boy his conditioning would be changed, too, "Those that aren't down their back, have it about shoulder length." "I have quite a few like that," Miss Helga told them, turning around to the shelves. "Nothing mod," the Dad told her. "Nothing fancy," Jesse told her, "straight." "Nothing cheap," Miss MacDonald told her, "And one that flips out." +++ The party headed back towards the female clothing departments; if anything, even more heads were turned by girls that looked even more like girls, and the two that were dressed like boys, and the well made-up beauty in the clinging short dress that needed to shave her legs. They did their best to ignore it; the one that seemed to be the most uncomfortable was the one lone man. "You mean you have to shampoo, and do all that other stuff girls do to their real hair, anyway?" Winnie, now in a wig that was 'boy' in name only, as far as she was concerned. "Of course!" Miss MacDonald smiled, "Wigs have no follicles. There are advantages to that, if you do not have good hair. But, without the natural oils, well, it'll look like something you brought home from a taxidermist." "So, we have to oil them??" "I'll give you the number where I send mine." "At least you don't have to sit under a hair dryer waiting for your hair to dry," Tammy said, from underneath Miss MacDonald's bouffant. "Yeah, at least there's that," Jesse said, in shoulder- length hair that was not as straight as she'd have liked. But at least it flipped in. (And tickled her neck more.) "I am sure that as you young ladies get further away from the boys' influence that has so devastated your formative years, you will begin to appreciate the rituals involved in hair care," Miss MacDonald said. "Rituals?" Winnie asked. "Don't ask," Jesse said. "There's a ritual in just about every routine you do in life," Tammy informed them. "It helps to make it a routine." "I am not talking about 'routines', I mean ritual in the spiritual sense. The communion with your fellow female, both psychologically as well as physically. The beauty parlor, or salon, which are what I would recommend..." ("There's a difference?" Winnie asked.) "...is like a temple, where a woman gets in touch with her female side." "Then I'm going to stay with wigs," Jesse said. "Miss MacDonald, am I old enough to join the 'temple'?" Winnie asked. "Well," the woman smiled down on the little girl, "you certainly have to have your hair managed (when you have hair). I wouldn't recommend the full experience, yet. But it is best to be 'initiated' early; to get to know it will be your home away from home, where you can go when you have any questions on being a woman." "Really? Dad-" "Not yet, Winnie! You're not ready to, uh, be 'initiated'." "Gee. Shot down again. It's not my fault I'm too young for anything." "Hmm... 'The place to go', hunh?" Tammy said, thinking. "Don't you get enough 'schooling'?" Jesse asked. "You can never have enough 'schooling' when it comes to women," Tammy smiled. "That's what you used to say when you were... I mean, what my brother Robbie used to say." "Yeah, well, now Tammy has another reason to want to know all the details." "First it was a 'science', then a 'temple', and now a 'school'," Jesse said, not liking any of the metaphors. "Sure! Haven't you ever heard of 'temple school'?" Winnie said. "Winnie, we're not Jewish." "No: We're girls, about to become women," Tammy said. "I like the idea there's a school you can go to learn the science of being a woman." "Oh, you're going to change over from wanting to be an engineer to a hairdresser?" Jesse said, not sure how sarcastic his brother would see it as. "That's not the schooling I'm interested in. It's obvious that Dad and Uncle Charley have a limited knowledge of women. (No offense, Dad.) A lot of what they'll tell us will be strictly from a man's perspective. What we need is to hear it from the source. I would recommend you go with me, Jesse." "No way!" "Jesse..." "No, Dad!" "Not until you're ready. Closed ears not only don't hear well, the message becomes garbled. But Tammy is right, we are going to have to find you women you can learn from." "Me, perhaps?" Miss MacDonald smiled. "Er... Perhaps," the serious looking man had to nod to the major stockholder in the company he worked for. "But the more, the better the chance you'll meet one that you can related to." He, then, raised his hand before their questions and bantering could begin again, "You each have different personalities. It just figures, then, you have different, uh, learning profiles." "I wish the teachers at school understood that," Winnie said. "They lump us all together." "That's what parents are for, Winnie," her Dad said. "Or 'Uncle Charley's." "Somehow, I don't think Uncle Charley's going to understand about different 'learning profiles'," Jesse said. +++ Back in the Young Miss department, one of the clerks was helping a mother and her oversized, but underdeveloped daughter, when she saw some familiar faces coming; she passed the two off to another clerk. "Welcome back," Mrs. Liza greeted them all. "My, don't you girls look pretty, now." "Tammy looks beautiful," Miss MacDonald said, wrapping her arm around her, and squeezing her arm. "What about me? Aren't I beautiful?" Winnie asked. "Why do you want to look beautiful?" Jesse asked. "I don't believe little girls should look beautiful," Mrs. Liza said. "So what does that make me?" Jesse asked. "Pretty beautiful?" Winnie asked. "Ha, ha." "Beautiful is for those who are old enough to wear makeup," her father told her. "...I guess." "Then I'll stay with pretty." "I thought we were going to get Miss MacDonald to get Dad to let us wear makeup. You know, as a disguise." "After seeing Tammy in the stuff, I changed my mind. I'm a girl; I can do that." "Is it really that bad, Tammy?" Winnie asked. "Well, I have an itch, but I'm afraid if I scratch, it'll mess up the makeup." "Yeah, then you'd really look funny-ha-ha; right now, you just look funny-strange." "I feel strange. If I didn't know what I looked like in a mirror, I'd think I was in Halloween makeup." "Yeah; they do have Princesses and Ballerinas," Winnie said. "That's not the kind I-" "My poor young woman! Makeup is not grease paint!" Miss MacDonald. "I know. It's just that I'm not used to it." "Makeup is not for a woman to hide behind: It is to hide what is not a woman." "Actually, I believe I read somewhere where men have to worry less about wrinkles, bags and sags." "And they have naturally thicker eyelashes, too," Jesse agreed. "Does that mean makeup is to make women look more like men?" Winnie asked. "It would go with your 'androgynous' theory of beauty," Tammy said. "'Androgynous'?" Steve Douglas asked. "Are you using that term correctly?" "I'm using Miss MacDonald's definition," Tammy said. "Miss MacDonald, at 16, Tammy is too young for-" Miss Liza said to Jesse, "Are you ready to try on some new clothes?" Jesse looked back at those she was with. ("I just meant men have a look that hides their age, better," Miss MacDonald said.) "Makeup is the great equalizer... I hardly think looking beautiful makes a woman a man's equal," her father said. "If anything, it gives the woman an unfair advantage," Tammy said. ("But men don't have to care that much about their looks, do they?" Winnie asked.) "Yes, Ma'am." +++ "Are you in there, Jesse?" came a young voice trying out a doorknob. "Winnie, I locked the dressing room on purpose! I don't want you in here!" "Why not? I've seen you get in and out of clothes all the time." "That was back before I had anything someone would want to see," Jesse told her. "Why would I want to see a girl? I just wanted to-" "Winnie, leave Jesse alone, and come with me to the Girls' Department." "But, Dad, Chip and I were always best friends, even though he was older than me. I just wanted to-" "I understand, Winnie. But there are just times when friends have to know when to do something else. Now, come: It's time to get you properly dressed, too." "In a dress!?" Jesse wanted to thank his Dad. But, doing it while half- undressed in a woman's dressing room, was just too embarrassing for her. She held the jeans in her hands for a moment. She wondered, when, if ever, she would wear jeans again. Of course, if women and men did become more equal, then maybe girls would start wearing jeans. But, she sighed, that wasn't for her, not now. The girls in Bryant Park didn't wear jeans, or pants of any sort. And even if they did, Dad wasn't about to let him wear anything but dresses and skirts; at least until she was 'used to' being a girl. And hanging up on the pole across the small room were those dresses and skirts, and blouses, and all the things that meant only one thing: Girl. Jesse looked around. On the small padded bench was laid the girl's underthings; full and half-slips, panties, and bras. And a couple of things in packages called 'Tampax'. "They must be the panty liners. I thought they'd be thinner than that." There was no room for the jeans. She would have to replace one of the dresses with it on a hanger.... Jesse dropped the jeans, and kicked them under the bench. The girl reached out for her very first dress, ever. It was like so many other dresses she remembered seeing girls her age wearing, only blue with some flowers-and-vines-like embroidery along its low, straight-across collar. It had wide straps, and was, in her mind, like an evening gown, or something; but the girls wore blouses under them, didn't they? Yes, there was one, so that meant she had to first put on.... The underthings! How could she forget those! Missing a couple of times, Jesse got the hanger back up on the pole. Girls' underwear! That seemed worse than wearing a dress. And lingerie seemed... Well, that word made her feel sick and nervous. Jesse looked in the full-length mirror on the back of the door, trying to decide if she could get away with not wearing any of that junk. Lifting her boys' shirt, she looked in the mirror down at her briefs. Dad and Robbie wore boxers; Uncle Charley and Ernie wore briefs. Chip, in the middle, wore both; today he had chosen briefs. She remembered Robbie telling Chip that "If you think a girl might see them, wear boxers." Little did Chip know that a girl would be seeing them today. Jesse turned in profile (trying to ignore her 'flags standing out for all the world to see'), and looked at the briefs. They still managed to have something of a bulge, though a squashed one. Jesse pulled it out, not knowing exactly why she was doing it. Empty. (But the groin spasmed; telling her it was definitely not a guy's.) The elastic bands and the material of the briefs were pulled up against her rear globes. "I... I have a girl's butt." It went down-around and out further than even the boobs she could feel and see under her loose shirt. "And thighs! A butt, thighs... and legs." They were girl legs alright; no one could mistake them for a boy's legs. (A little on the thick side, though.) Jesse raised the shirt higher, watching an (almost) hourglass appear as from behind a stage curtain. Suddenly, Jesse realized, "I have skin." Her legs grown weak, Jesse lowered herself to the carpet, and laid back until she could go no further. "Oh, man..." she said, looking up to God, or whoever would hear her, all alone in her little reverse world. +++ 6) All 'Dress'ed Up... And Feeling Like a Turkey Steve Douglas was sitting on a padded Bench in the Girls' department, "I thought we agreed they'd be plain white, and cotton," Winnie's Dad said to the little girl standing before him in a dress that reminded him of Shirley Temple, complete with the square navy bib collar. Did she ever wear sneakers? "Only if the others wear that kind, too," Winnie said, holding down the front and back of the short dress (it came well above her knees). "You mean you want to wear them flowery, pink and lacey?" "Heck, no! I just don't want to be left out of anything more than I have to. What will Jesse and Tammy think, if I never have to do what they have to do?" Mrs. Lynne, a large, but grandmotherly woman in a navy skirt and vest, and a mauve flower print blouse told the father, "We have some cute and adorable..." "I don't want anything cute and adorable! I want what the others wear." "Winnie, if they have anything like that for girls your age, I would refuse to let you wear them. What the two older, er, ones wear; they wear because, well, they are older. Now, I'm sorry, if you feel left out again. But there are reasons why age makes a difference. One day, when you're older, you'll understand. Hopefully, you'll thank me, then. But for now, we'll, we'll..." Steve Douglas shook his head with a very weak look on his face. "What's the matter, sir?" "Yeah, Dad?!" Winnie asked, too. "This day. It's, it's just wearing me down. Never did I ever think I would have to have conversations like these. I never even listened in on those that the secretaries at work had... What discussions I did have... Well, it was during the first part of my marriage to my late wife." Steve admitted. "The rumors going around the store are correct," Mrs. Lynne said, shaking her gray-flecked brown hair in sympathy. "Why did you take this on, if you were so unprepared?" "Because they're my..." and Winnie's adopted Dad looked at her, "My relatives. You do not turn your back on family." Winnie smiled. "Surely, you have women in your family? Some one who knows what girls need?" "Yes, I do," he held out a hand for Winnie. "But none that could love and care about them as much as I can." And he brought her to him within his arm, "Not any more. I owe her, and their mothers, the daughters they wished they had had." And he hugged the little girl to him (and the dress rose in the back). "To see for them that they grow into fine and honorable young ladies. Clerk, give us an assortment of 'cute and adorable'." "Dad!?!" Winnie said in horror. He hugged, again, his littlest girl, "We'll keep them in their packages until you're ready... When you decide for yourself." +++ Tammy "modeled" without enthusiasm the pink outfit (skirt (with white petticoats), sweater (more reddish), and even a very pale pink blouse) outfit that the woman had chosen for her. The only thing that seemed to be missing was the poodle. "No offense, Miss MacDonald, but this seems a bit... dated. It's more like something out of the fifties." "The late fifties, early sixties. And so is the hair, though there are still young girls your age that wear bouffants, and even beehives." "Those who are totally out of it," Tammy said, but tried not to sound too sarcastic. "Those who tend to wear this style, are, for the most part, young women." "Okay. I'll agree with you there... (Trying to take her mind off of the outside left her only with the nagging, lacey bra.) Those who were teens then, and prefer to remember themselves like that." "There are men like that, too. Rising young executives, though, have dress codes they must maintain, if they are to get ahead. Now, a beautiful woman is one of the best ways they have to feel young again." "'Beautiful'! You mean me?! Look, I'm not ready to even think about dating! A man!? I don't think I'll ever be ready!" "Still thinking of boys your own age?" she winked at her. "Women tend to marry men 7 or 8 years older. Older men, younger women; it is how things have worked from time immemorial." "Well, according to the anthropology I've..." (She started fidgeting with the bra's elastic band.) "So, by invoking in the man the era of his prime, you increase the chances he will notice you." "Oh, I'm sure I'd be noticed. Especially surrounded by people who know what's in and what's not." (She forced her fingers away from the bra; she was definitely getting signals.) "Another reason you'd be assured of getting the man's attention. The type of man I'm thinking of has finally come to the conclusion that, after devoting all of his time to business, the next step to getting ahead is marrying somebody respectable. That does not mean a woman who is so concerned with herself she would spend his 'hard earned' money on the latest fads and fashions, and bother him about how she looks, when he has 'more important' trends to keep track of." "Miss MacDonald, assuming that what you say is correct, I am still sixteen-" "Closer to seventeen?" "Okay. But even at seventeen, I'm too young to marry: If I were to dress like this, and were going to marry your 7 or 8 years older man, he'd be more like ten years older." It hurt his stomach to even think of stuff like that; and it didn't help with his dryness problem. "Which wouldn't be bad. Think of the money he'd be making; he'd definitely be old enough to have a plan. But the idea would be valid; you would just have to dress for 'your target'. Besides," she winked, "why bother with school, when you can have somebody else do that for you?" "Miss MacDonald!" Tammy said, knowing her limit had been reached (she purposefully rearranged the bra's band around her), "If you are such an expert, why is it that you were never married." "Is that silly 'Miss' confusing you?!" she smiled as to almost laugh. "That is there because it is simpler to keep the name everybody knows me by. And for legal reasons; I do need to hold onto Daddy's money. I have had three husbands." "If it's not 'too' rude, may I ask what happened to them?" Tammy said, hoping to be rude enough. (Fiddling with the bra had just made matters worse for her breasts.) "I was young and innocent; but my first round out I was not foolish enough to let him get much of the money. My next husband was even less foolish than I had been. My third, bless his soul, died two years after I married him. The poor dear had worked himself to death. But I did receive the bulk of his estate." "And... do you plan on having a fourth?" Tammy asked, afraid for the answer. (How much could a girl touch her breasts in public, again?) "I have more than enough money for my purposes. I am now looking to be a 'helpmate'; someone who can stand behind her man, and help push him up the corporate ladder to success." "The imagery leaves something to be desired," Tammy said, turning up her nose. (She 'snuck' the resettling of her breasts as best she could.) "So does 'shoulder to the ground' and 'nose to the grindstone', but those are the cultural ones we are stuck with. As for the sentiments, what greater accomplishment can a woman have?" "Yes," Tammy said, a frost settling around her. "What?" (Damn bra! Damn breasts!) +++ "What kind of girl am I?" Jesse asked, sitting up low against the back wall, only because laying, with her sway back, made her too aware of that round butt. Of course, they still 'plumped' out and 'down'. She didn't sit very straight, so her developing (small for a woman, big(!) for a guy) breasts were practically in her face. And the rest of her body was stretched out on display. Especially those tapering legs. Why did girls develop the lower part first? (This morning didn't Tammy say something like, "when you think about it, the function women were designed for is centered mainly in the lower part.") "So why am I turned on?" The sight of her exposed skin was making her feel that skin: All of it-from the inside. Warm, soft skin that had a solid shape beneath. It was crazy! He could imagine Chip holding a girl, arms around the girl's breasts and hips (as physically impossible as that was), and pressing her breasts into his diaphragm, and her crotch into his thighs; at the same time, a shift in his perspective, and it was more like her breasts were where Chip's chest should be, her groin where the boy she use to be should be. And that groin... Oh, man, that groin! What Chip had had was still there, but very shrunk and rearranged! But what was new, in the area that had been under what had made Chip a guy, was this warmer fold with two more things inflating out from it. And inside there seemed to be a thin, fleshy bottle that was threatening to get... emptier. Perhaps because it was leaking something. And, to her nose, it smelled; ready to tell the world of what she was doing. "But I hate being a girl! I can't stand being different! I am meant to be a guy!" Then she could ignore it no longer; her briefs were starting to get visibly damp. It broke her from her daze, and she reached up, to grab a 'Tampax' package from the bench. +++ "Aren't you going to look at yourself in the mirror?" the "grandma" invited, motioning to the large 3-way mirror besides the dressing rooms. "Do I have to?" Winnie asked, now dressed in something that reminded her of Alice in Wonderland. "You picked this stuff out, and even practically dressed me. You know what I look like." "I just thought you'd like to form your own opinion, little lady," Mrs. Lynne smiled. "I haven't been a 'little lady' long enough to have an opinion. Other than I'd rather not be one." Do all little girl dresses have to be... little? "Uh, she looks fine, Miss," her father told the woman. "She looks like any girl her age; I think." "If you wish her to have something special-" "No: We want her to look like a normal, typical girl." "Yeah; that'd be the only thing about me that will be normal and typical." "Then may I suggest one final stop, for you and your daughter?" the woman said, lowering her eyes to the sneakers and boys' gym socks. "Why can't girls wear sneakers?" Winnie asked. "Heck, Arlene Kapinsky only wears them." "Arlene Kapinsky?" her dad asked. "Isn't that that girl who everybody considers different?" "Though I've included play dresses in your new wardrobe, I am afraid that even they will not allow you to fully participate in the boyish games you may have been use to, dear. Sneakers would only encourage the idea." "Dad..." "Er, uh, I'm afraid she's right, Winnie. We wouldn't want the boys to see your, er, uh, well, underthings." "I don't care if they do. I'd rather climb trees and explore big pipes." The elder woman looked at the father with a sympathetic eye, as he struggled over how much of the facts of life to tell his new little girl. Steve Douglas saw that look, and looked back to Winnie; "We'll talk about it when we get home." "Okay. I always like having father-kid talks." Relieved, he said, putting a fatherly hand between her little shoulders. "Come on. We have to get you some girl's shoes and socks, anyway." "What about the clothes?" Mrs. Lynne asked. "Just send them to the house. You have the address from the credit card." "And her, uh, old clothes?" "Well, uh, put them in a bag, for us." "Right," the woman smiled. "There are plenty of charities that will take clothes that you will no longer wear." "Dad!" Winnie almost cried (swishing the dress with her quick turn). "We're just going to box them up," he said, afraid of saying anything more, and getting her hopes (and resistance) up. +++ "Excuse me, dear," Miss MacDonald said, getting up. "I have to freshen my makeup." "How often do you have to do that?" "Oh, my, you don't even know the codewords?" "Codewords?" "She's going to 'powder her nose'," the salesclerk, Mrs. Ella told her. "Powder her nose..." Tammy said, reflexively putting her fingers up towards- "Oh! That 'powder her nose'!" "There!" Miss MacDonald smiled, pleased, "You know more about being a girl than you think. You just have to dive in, and get in the swim of things." "I hope you're right," Tammy said, with little confidence. "Of course, I never thought I'd be applying the knowledge from this side." (She made one last attempt to get everything settled into her bra right.) A look passed between the two older women. "Well, that is a matter that will have to be considered at another time," Miss MacDonald said, finally walking away. When she was out of sight, the woman in the gold rings motif asked, "Are you really going to take these outfits that she's selected for you?" "You don't argue with somebody like that. She's going to want to see me in this stuff; some of it, she even said she'd pay for herself. The stuff she won't remember or see can go." (Tammy finally settled for the way she'd gotten the bra.) "You said before you thought you knew what I needed to be a 'happening chick', and still keep within Dad's 'just the basics' rule." "Yes," the woman smiled. "I do." She hurried from behind the counter of fancy hankies and gloves she'd been hiding behind. "If you come this way, perhaps we can find you what you need before she comes back." "Fine. If I like what you show me, then you can send me what you think will work for me," Tammy said, following. "I'll try to hurry," Mrs. Ella said, leading the way to a wall with racks at two different levels, and shelves on top of each. "Now, black is very basic; but is very out of it. So is navy blue. The demand is for colors, the brighter, the better. We don't have to be garish, but..." "Brown??" Tammy said; here we go again, another miss at his being a cool Miss. "As a basic, the foundation on which you build with accessories. Brown goes well with the bright colors, purple, red, orange, yellow. And your complexion, I believe. You do have golden-brown hair. Brown will even go with a light green, or blue, if it keeps them as accents. And, to break up the monotony, some white skirts. White goes with every color, since it is every color." "It also shows stains, better," Tammy said. "White is something you have plan ahead for. Simply ask yourself what you plan on doing that day. And, then make sure you have a sweater you can tie around you, if you have to. But the whole secret is the accessories: the shoes, the belts, the scarves: The jewelry!" Mrs. Ella told her, reliving, it appeared, a younger day. "I even have some paisley vests." "Paisley?" Tammy asked. "Trust me. I don't get these senses often, but when I do..." she smiled, knowingly. "Paisley will be very big. When it arrives, people will think of you- And you'll be a fashion prophet." "This is going to be big??" Tammy asked, handling one of the vests. To her mind, the print looked like something he saw on a slide in biology class. "Yes: Paisley! I like it. And brown. I have brown slacks at home. You don't think of brown when you think of girls, do you? I mean, pink is suppose to be their color- Just look what MacDonald has me in!" Inspiration filling her up, she looked and moved around in one nearly seamless union; "There! Those scarves remind me of ties. I'll have those. ...And this belt isn't too bad. ...And this one, too! But make it a medium width. -I want belt loops on the skirts..." As the young woman passed her, Mrs. Ella asked her, "You don't mind if I change the color? I mean there's too much dark blue in-" "...I don't see any blouses that look like sports shirts - White shirts, I mean blouses! With long sleeves, to cover these silly arms. Cuffs, too!" she said, heading for a nearby department that had costume jewelry. "One's you can put cufflinks on- or whatever girls call them." "Girls do not call them anything but cufflinks: Girls do not wear cufflinks!" Mrs. Ella tried to tell her as she led her out of her department. "They must have something to hold their cuffs together," Tammy said, certain, "They use buttons. Or elastic, nowadays. But mostly-" "Girls can get away with wearing just about anything, except maybe pants. It's the guys who have to worry about not getting caught dead in something." "Girls have to be more careful about-" "When Dad's guard is down, I'll start wearing shirts. Bit by bit, I'll start getting back into men's things, and, then, by the time he notices- "Look: Cufflinks!" Tammy cried, running up to the display case. "They're earrings!" the exasperated saleslady told her. "Great! I'll take them. And I'll take this wide bracelet, and this tie tack, I mean pin. And, let's see..." +++ Having taken the first dress at hand, Jesse managed to get into her first dress of her life, and, she swore, the only one for that day. She found that you had to go in hands, elbows and head first, then pull the rest down, once you got enough of yourself out of the armholes. It was a lot like putting on a pullover. Except the material wasn't stretchy (it squashed on her, thankfully, small breasts); and the hips got in the way; and instead of stopping below the bellybutton, it went on to her knees. Her naked knees. And that butt helped keep the skirt further away from her body, and open. "How do they button these things?" she asked, trying to reach around her back. "Especially with these things on their chests!" she cried as she felt what her attempts were doing to them. In the mirror, she took glances at the girl in the green dress with the circular collar that went bellow her clavicle; it, the "cuffs" on the short sleeves, and the wide "belt" were of a stiff, shiny, textured green. She was going around the other way for the third time (that 'Tampax' thing certainly didn't help her grace, she thought), when her glance in the mirror finally told her, "This isn't a normal dress! It's for parties! No wonder it's so hard to get in!" Jesse made the selection more carefully this time, and she pulled out a soft cotton gingham dress (the buttons here, too, were on the back, but this time they went all the way down) that seemed like something out of "The Wizard of Oz". Except it was a full dress; no blouse would be needed. "At least it's not a peasant outfit, like I've heard girls talk about. Then I'm sure I'd feel like a munchkin." But the very mention of the word made her feeling; again, just how much height she'd lost. But to put that one on meant taking the first one off. "You know," she said, looking down (would she ever get use to having those things in the way?) and putting her free hand on stiff green material around her waist, "it isn't so bad, once you get into it. I don't plan on doing any bending, any way." Her hand went around her back, "It would help you sit up straight." She glanced in the mirror, and turned away from it, "If I didn't know this was a party dress, I could wear this outside. They couldn't expect me to know? I mean, I haven't been a girl long enough to know things like that. I could walk out there, and have everybody tell me how pretty I am..." She lifted the gingham one, "I wonder if they'd say I was pretty in this one, too? "Yeah. They'd say it. They just wouldn't mean it as much," she said, reaching down, and taking up the hem of the green dress. "At least I don't have to go and unbutton this." +++ "They're certainly shiny," the Winnie said, trying to look past the dress, and bare legs, and at the shoes she'd been put in. "Er, you don't play in these. Do you?" her Dad asked the salesman; he was a thin, vaguely sinister looking man (maybe it was the pencil moustache) in wingtips, slacks and pinstripe dress shirt. "These are dress shoes. She could wear them to school, if she is not a hard player," Mr. Clay said. "Hey, I thought people weren't suppose to see my underwear?" "What?!" her Dad cried, looking at the shoes more closely. "Patent leather does that. I assure you, girls wear them everyday, everywhere. If you would just take a look around you-" "Why would they wear something that, uh, reflects?!" With a nearly bored expression, the man shrugged, "Females are like magpies; both like shiny objects. All else flies from their heads, when they get near their 'treasures'." "That maybe so, but this little girl is not going to wear shiny things under her dress. Show us some that are more, uh, dull. I think of "dull" and "non-shiny", when I think of normal." "Our assortment of girls' shoes are all around you; I'm sure any of them will meet your definition of-" "Honestly, Mr. Clay! Just because they're not women's feet, you don't have to be so inattentive," said a matronly woman in green ("Mrs. Frances") with, Steve thought, too much jewelry for daywear. "Then you help them. It's near my break anyway." "No breaks without me; that was our agreement!" she called after him, as he disappeared into the backroom anyway. "Honestly, that husband of mine," the woman said, though not as angrily as Steve thought she could have. "Well, you say you want dress shoes for your little girl." "School shoes, And, play. Just about every sort a ten-year- old needs." "Ten!?" the woman said, looking at what Winnie was wearing. "I thought she was much younger." "Is there something wrong?" Steve asked, looking at Winnie from her angle. "Nothing. That is, if you want your daughter to look as if she's still in lower elementary." "No. I don't want that. Do I?" "I certainly don't! It's bad enough being short, I don't want to be any younger than I have to be." "I can help you get shoes appropriate for her age, but I suggest you return to Girls' department and tell your clerk her real age." "Thank you. We'll have to it all over again." "I guess I should have looked in the mirror, after all," Winnie said. +++ 7) Costume Jewelry...And Other "Accessories" "These are the accessories you chose while I was gone?!" Miss MacDonald said, looking at what the Trinkets salesclerk was putting in the small jewelry case Tammy had also selected. "Miss MacDonald, even if I go along with your plans for me, I still have to live among people who don't. If I'm to accept being a girl, I'm going to have to be accepted." "You think you will be accepted with..." she looked at the wide bracelet with the braid pattern, "less than feminine props? If this had a circle, it would look like a man's watch." "The first step to acceptance, is being acceptable to yourself. I know I said we had to become all girl, but how can you be more girl than this?!" Tammy said, nearly lifting her size 36D breasts. "I'll wear skirts," her hands lowered themselves downwards, now, "and blouses, scarves, jewelry, and everything else a girl is expected to wear. But I have to have a lifeline to hold onto! I cannot dive in head first. I dove into the deep end, and found myself in over my head, drowning." "Hmm," the woman said, scanning the teenager dressed in the shocking pink cashmere sweater, pale pink satin blouse, and pink glace skirt; she definitely needed a shave. "You never have worn dresses before, have you." "No, I haven't. And before this day, I never even thought to." She smiled, "You are going to be a challenge. I wish I were your mama. It is one thing to help usher a young girl through to womanhood, but one your age? Instead of a saga, we would have a stage production worthy of Broadway." "I don't feel ready to go before large audiences." "And wit, too! Oh, I must have you! There would be no delayed gratification with you." "Let me guess. Miss MacDonald, you are big in charities?" "Yes; one must be fill ones time with something, when one is freed from the cares of bringing in an income. And what better avocation than to be socially responsible while being social." "And I am to be one of your 'pet projects'." "Not a 'pet'!" the well-tailored woman said, taking her by the young thing's far shoulder, "You're not tamed yet. And when you are: A thoroughbred!" she said, hugging her to herself. +++ Jesse (in a pair of daisy-covered panties that were lower around her hips than she'd like; she did her best to forget about the 'Tampax'.) stepped into the gingham dress. "Yes: This is how it should be! Nice and easy; no having to think about the parts that stick out until after you're all the way inside." Her back to the mirror, she pulled it up to where she could get her left hand and arm into the its hole. That one done, she did the other. She hurriedly "walked" the short sleeves up so she would not have to look at her own breasts any longer; but the top edge had to get past stiff nipples. She learned to bend her body, bringing those nuisances down and in as she brought the collar and sleeves out, and over them. She at last pulled the sleeves into place. Now all she had to do was figure out how girls buttoned themselves, when the buttons were in the back. +++ "Isn't that what little girls still wear?" Mrs. Lynne asked little girl in the over-the-insteps-strap-ons. "I'm not sure. I never paid much attention to what exactly girls wear," Winnie told her. "All I know is that they usually wear dresses." "'Never'? What an unusual little girl." "Yes, ma'am." "I must confess I'm in the same boat. Look Miss, uh, Mrs. Lynne, why are you in the children's department, if you don't know things like that?" "Actually, I'm filling in. I'm semi-retired, but help out when there's a need." "You're like a substitute teacher," Winnie said. "My normal department is Sporting Goods." "Really?!" Winnie said, surprised. "You really know about sports?" "I used to be a championship marksman." "Even though you're not a man?" "Women make the best shots. We have a keener eye, and steadier hand." "Wow! Dad-" "We're fishermen, er, people, Winnie. And the idea of a novice your age carrying around a loaded-" "That's what shooting ranges are for," Mrs. Lynne interrupted. "I've shot a few animals, but gave it up. It's the idea of a woman knowing how to protect herself that appeals to me." "Yes; I can see where-" "A girl has to start some time." "Dad?" Steve pursed his lips together; but the corner became a door, "Alright. That will be your reward for being, uh, a good girl. If it's how Mr. Lynne says it is, it will prove to you that being a girl does have its benefits." The grandmotherly-looking (but-not-in-fact) woman leaned down to 'whisper' in the girl's ear, "Challenge your brothers to marbles and hit-the-target." "I don't have any brothers. Not any more." +++ "The first box of jewelry, her father will pay for. This new box, I will pay for right now," Mrs. MacDonald told the clerk. "You really shouldn't do this!" Tammy tried to insist. "I cannot promise I'll wear them. Not yet, anyway! I have to get use to other things, first! I told you, I'm not ready to be totally girlish." "Nonsense! Jewelry is one of those things women have every right to! The ones I present to you will be your first stepping stones into the world of the arts." "The arts?" Tammy asked, wondering how things had shifted on her again. "In fact: Let us go to where they have real jewelry! I will get you true gem stones!" the woman said, pulling Tammy along by the hand. "Miss MacDonald, about this Broadway play?" "Well, 'Mame' comes to mind. But all she had to work with was a little boy!" "I wish I was a boy." +++ Those over the small of her back got done, but now, the more her hands had to rise... "Why do girls have to have their buttons in the back?!" Jesse griped to herself, as she arched her back opposite the way from when she was getting the dress on past her small breasts. "It certainly doesn't make their breasts feel any better. It has them squashed out in as two different directions as I hope they can go." She got up as far as she thought she could reach, and had to change directions. Reaching for the top button, she found, "Now they come up your chest. Do girls like having their breasts squashed? Am I missing something?" That one finally done, she worked her way down, "Now, they want to come together. ...I can't do it! I can't get this last button! There must be trick! I have a girl's brain: I should be able to figure it out!" Not standing all the squashing about any more, Jesse dropped her wide, round butt onto the pile of slips and half- slips on the dressing room's Bench. Practically on the 'Tampax'. "Maybe I don't have a girl's brain," she sighed as she bent forward, placing her hands together, and her elbows near her knees. "Girls like wearing dresses, and makeup, and junk like that. They want to be told they're pretty. They get mad at you if you don't say they're pretty. If you're a boy, any way." "Boys telling me I'm pretty?" a shudder went through her. "I definitely don't have a girl's brain. What do girls see in boys, any way? Maybe if I wasn't pretty, I wouldn't have to think about things like that." Jesse's eyes fell to her exposed legs. "Then I wouldn't have to bother having to shave my legs. Look how much there is to shave! There's much more there than on a face. I wonder how often you have to shave them? Dad and Uncle Charley do it every day!" Jesse dropped her head, and groaned. "I wish I wasn't pretty. If you can't change me back, just make it so I'm not pretty." +++ The girl in the simple blouse looked in the 3-way mirror, this time. "If you look from the waist up, you could almost think they're overalls." Her Dad put his fingers around one of the straps, and felt the material. "It's thick enough. But it's not denim, it's more like a blue corduroy." "And instead of a blouse, something with plaid; you know, like farmers wear." "No plaid," her dad told her. "You're to wear girls things until you don't mind wearing girls things. Then we'll talk about plaids blouses that look like shirts, or whatever the notion is then." "I'll take it. Do you have any that are longer, like past my knees?" "I don't think so. Of course, if you were to wear something too large for you-" "Yeah!" "No, Winnie! It would look, ridiculous; you know how you hate to look ridiculous and different." "Yeah," she said in a tone that told him that she had been defeated. "If you want plaid, we have jumpers like your little girl is wearing," Mrs. Lynne said, moving over to a display. "Tartans!" Winnie cried, hurrying over to them. "Not quite, Winnie," Steve Douglas said. "You're right, I don't think tartans have diagonal stripes." "And it's yellow with large black stripes and checks with orange and red small stripes," he pointed out, arriving to stand near her. "It looks a lot like one of the MacLeod tartans." "You would think I would have noticed something that loud." "Maybe there aren't any MacLeod's around here." "Are maybe they think their tartan's loud, too." "Anything would be 'loud' compared to the Douglas's tartans," Winnie said; and she told the lady, "You should see the lavender ones some clans have." The woman smiled. "She'll need more than just jumpers," Mrs. Lynne suggested. "Jumpers?" Winnie asked, looking from the dress she was holding to the one she was in, "Is that what these are called? Does that mean its okay for you to jump in them?" "Somehow, I doubt that," her Dad told her rather firmly. "Well, these are heavier than other dresses. I thought they might stay down better." "I believe they're called jumpers, because they're easier to 'jump into'." "There, see? No jumping in them." "Gee, what kind of fun is a girl allowed to have? I hope shooting a gun is fun enough to make up for all the other stuff I'm going to miss." +++ They were in sight of the entrance. "I'm not leaving the store!" Tammy yanked her hand from the woman's. "I don't even have shoes on!" "You have been going all over these dirty floors without anything on," Miss MacDonald said, looking down and conceding a point. "I was told you first had to decide on the outfit, then the shoes." "Unless, of course, you find some simply darling shoes. Then you find the outfits you can wear them with. They're like handbags in that way." "Okay.... But beyond the fact that I told you I wasn't ready to go any further into becoming a girl, there's my dad and the family. What will they think when they come looking for me? "In fact, I think I'll go and look for them!" Tammy said, turning and, finally, walking away like a man. Well, an independent woman. "I know just where to begin looking for them!" Miss MacDonald said, grabbing hold of her arm, and leading her on her way again. "Miss MacDonald!" +++ "The wish isn't going to come true, is it?" Jesse said, finally moving. As she rose off of the bench, she said, "It's like Dad said, if you want something, you have to make it happen yourself." She glanced at the mirror, and then pulled at the material of the thing she was in. "Yeah; I guess it fits okay. Nothing's hurting, or feeling squeezed. I'll take these they gave me to try on and say I did, and get this trip over with." She started taking the hangers with the dresses, skirts and blouses off of the pole. It wasn't long before they became a load. "I'm going to have to get the lady to help me with the others. Of course, I could just let her take of this herself. It is her job." But as she started thinking of it. "I kind of don't want to. I like having them in front of me. It's sort of like hiding behind them." "Yeah, but I can't go and carry a bunch of clothes around with me wherever I go," her full arms lowered, her head bent. She then thought of something, "Or can I!" Her head rose, "I seem to remember girls always carrying something, or grabbing something when they sit to hide behind. They like to hide they're bodies, too, don't they..." she said hopefully. She became a little puzzled, "Does this mean I'm more of a girl than I thought?" Shaking her head to get that straw of thought out, she turned with her shields of cloth, and made ready to head out into the world, wearing only a dress and panties. She paused to take one final look at her new face in the mirror. "I wonder if you can consider scars and burn marks something you hide 'behind'." +++ "Here," Mrs. Lynne said giving a store catalogue to the little girl, "why not take this home, and go through it. If you can't decide what you like, you can at least see what most looks like what the other little girls in the neighborhood wear." "Yeah; it would save having any more embarrassing time in the store. I can go home, and be embarrassed," Winnie said. "In the meantime, we'll take what she has on, and those plaid tartan-jumpers but in the more traditional colors." "And the blouses! I'm not ready to show off my shoulders, yet. I was in a school play once, and I played Tom Sawyer because of what Huck Finn had to wear." "What? Tom Sawyer?" "Er, you know how things are when there aren't enough roles for all the children." "Especially girls! Aunt Polly and Becky Thatcher were just about the only ones in the play that had much of anything to say." "See?!" Steve Douglas said, hoping that would answer the question, as he guided the little girl away by the top of her shoulders. "I wonder if I should stop thinking about acting for one of my careers. There doesn't seem to be many good parts for girls." +++ Mrs. Liza smiled, and said, "You know these will have to be approved by your father?" "Yes, ma'am. But I'm sure he will, he knows even less about this stuff than I do. He still thinks women should wear lace, and hats. I'll be surprised if Winnie doesn't come back looking like Shirley Temple." "Your father does seem on the old fashioned side." "He could be worse. At least there's Uncle Charley at home. He's been everywhere, and seen everything." She paused, and then added, "Well, up until now." "Uncle Charley?" "He's sort of like the mother we don't have." "A male mother? No wonder you poor girls are the way you are; you have no role models at all." "Oh, we've had plenty of role models; they're just not the right gender, any more. We have find new ones, I guess." "I would have thought that you girls would at least have picked up on how to act from the other girls around you." "Oh, we did. But we acted like boys." "A whole family of tomboys, imagine that." "Yes. I wish you would. Now, can you show me the coats?" "Yes, you'll need coats for when the weather gets colder." "No, ma'am, I want to carry one now." +++ The little girl in the black strap-ons, blue jumper, white blouse, and glasses with thick, black frames left the Girls' department for the second, and hopefully, final time that day. She was carrying the thick catalogue with her. "Can we stop by Sporting Goods and look at the guns?" "I'm sure they rent them at the firing range. We'll see how that goes before we spend any more money," her father told her. "I want some like the sheriffs use in Westerns!" "Pearl handled?" "That's what they talk about on Westerns." "Pearls are for girls, you know?" "Sure, everybody knows that. Since I'm a girl, it's doubly okay for me to have pearl handles!" "Well, there must be a "Dale Evans" brand." "Who? I'd rather have something from "Gunsmoke", or "Rawhide" Or a "Bonanza"! That's about a family with three sons, like us, isn't it?" "Er, not since Adam left this year. And, about we having, uh, three "sons": Winnie, I don't think-" "That's alright, Dad. I know we're not "sons" any more. But I can't think of any show with three "daughters" on it." "Well, there's 'Petticoat Junction'." "Petticoats!?" "Yes, petticoats, I'm afraid. Girls wear petticoats, sometimes." "I never watched that show much. I never liked the title. And it was about girls. That's why Robbie and Chip would watch it sometimes. They would turn over to it, when they weren't any scenes with skimpy costumes in 'The Greatest Show on Earth'." "That was last year. This year, I'm sure they'll be watching other things. Maybe we should all sit down and work out what we should watch. You know, see how girls act on TV?" "Do you really want us to act like they act on TV?" "Well, we'll sit down and figure out what not to watch, then." +++ "I thought you said my family would be here?" Tammy asked, looking around the Women's and Girls' Shoe department. There were just three women there, the green one in all the jewelry was waiting on the other two, two mothers in their good clothes, apparently, out shopping together. They were certainly chatting together like this was an excuse to get out of the house. (The lump reasserted itself in Tammy's belly.) "They have to buy shoes sometime. Why don't we wait here for them to show up? In the meantime-" "Ah, dear ladies, how may I help you?" Mr. Clay said approaching them. He was a thin man with receding hairline and a pencil moustache. He wore a suit without the coat. "We are interested in buying a shoe rack of shoes for this young woman. Cost is no matter! We must have the finest this establishment has to offer to the general public." "Oh, yes," the man smiled, moving his eyes down the beautiful teenager to her bare and dirty feet, and leaving them there. "We have a large assortment of shoes. I'm sure we can find just the ones for such lovely," it was then he looked up at Miss MacDonald, " examples of femininity as you two. I am sure that the lady would be interested in some shoes as well? One can never have too many shoes. Especially one who so obviously knows how to dress." "Why thank you," Miss MacDonald said, patting her perm. "Even if it is not the sincerest of compliments, the truth is there." "Ladies?!" Mr. Clay gestured for them to approach the chairs before his footstool. +++ "I don't want anything heavy. People would stare, and wonder why I was carrying it, when it's still nice out." "You're going to have a warm coat. Fall has just begun, and it won't be long before it's winter." "I don't remember there ever having been bad winters in Bryant Park," Jesse told her. "You have to be prepared. After all, a skirt isn't going to help you any in cold weather." "Yeah! You'd think that girls would at least get out of them then!" "Well, tights, and nylons do help somewhat," Mrs. Liza said, looking down at the young teenager's legs. She looked even more like her older sister now. "As soon as you shave, you should start putting something on them." "Why? What happens if I don't shave?" Jesse asked. "Not shave? Well, there are plenty of girls your age who do not shave, but, in their case-" "Jesse!" a small cry went out. "Winnie," Jesse turned to the voice that sounded like Ernie's only reedier. "Wow, you really look like a girl, now." "So do you!" Jesse frowned. "Yes; you do look how a girl should look," her father said, with more approval in his voice than regret. Jesse nodded, but refused to say anything like "thank you". Still frowning, she asked, "Are you trying to hide, too?" Jesse asked Winnie. "What? This is a catalogue," she said, holding it out in her little arms. "It's got pictures of the clothes we're suppose to pick out. And girl's underwear. You know, like the catalogue you keep under your bed." "Dad, I can explain-" Jesse said, looking up at her... his expression was not the one her old boy brain had been expecting. "Never mind. There's no reason for me not to have something like that any more." +++ 8) Slings and Sandals...A Tale of 1,001 Variations (Or More) "There certainly is a lot of brown," Steve Douglas said, looking at Tammy's selection. "And this pile has a lot of pink in it," Winnie said. "You said "basic", brown is a basic," the salesclerk, Mrs. Ella smiled up at the tall man. "Yes, I suppose; if that is why men wear brown suits. Though personally, I never did like brown suits." "Is pink a basic?" Winnie asked. "Yeah, it's your basic girl color," Jesse said. "No, pink is not a basic," the woman with the golden ring motif tried to smile. "You can easily overdo pink. At least I've always thought so." "I'll say," Jesse said, picking up a sleeve of a sweater. "Hey, look: It's almost the same color as skin," Winnie noticed. "Oh, yuck!" Jesse said, dropping it. "I bet when Tammy puts all of that pink stuff on, she'll almost look like she doesn't have anything on." "Not quite," Winnie's d