My Three Sons 9-12: Our Travels Outside The Department Store free porn video

My Three Sons 9-12: Our Travels Outside the Department Store By Ron Dow75 9: The Personalizing the Cookie Cutters Cookies "There it is! The way out!" An 11 slim pre-teen in the Dutch boy wig cried, hurrying to the door in her over-the-insteps strap- ons. The girl in the simple white blouse and blue ribbed jumper had her blue fuzzy coat so carelessly held in one of her small hands, that it often touched the department store floor. "We're finished shopping!" "I wouldn't bet on it," Her 16 regular (though she was over an inch shorter) thirteen-year-old sister in the shoulder-length blond wig said, trying to plod in black wedgies towards the door to outside world. The girl in the green gingham dress held over her arm a long, black cloth coat as high up in front of her as she comfortably could. She carried a 'General Department Store' paper shopping bag with the other hand. "Clothes alone do not make a girl." "Even buying the clothes is not the end of it," Told the 11 large top (but a the 5 small bottom) junior sixteen-year-old sister with the golden-blond bouffant wig was more deliberate in her brown skimmers. The girl in the pink glace skirt had her tan coat draped more comfortably over her arm, while her shocking pink sweater was buttoned all the way up to all but the top button. She, too, carried a shopping bag with older boy's clothes in it. "You just can't put any old thing on." "Now, you're on that 'ensemble' kick," Jesse, the 13-year-old, said to her older sib. "You sure run hot and cold." "What do you expect?" Tammy, all in pink, even the blouse, defended herself. "I accept that I am a girl, and must dress and behave as one. But that is in principle. It's going take a while before I'm comfortable with being a girl." "I don't ever want to be comfortable 'being' a girl," Jesse frowned, feeling very uncomfortable in her very first dress. "I just want to do what I have to do to get by." Tammy gave her a knowing look, then smiled as she looked away, shaking her head. "Where's your bro... er--Where's Winnie?" A tall man in a blue suit said coming into view from around a pillar. He was carrying a thick store catalogue under his right arm, but another shopping bag in his left hand. Jesse slowed down, but did not straighten up. Still frowning at the made-up Tammy, she said, "She already left through the doors." "What happened to Miss McDonald?" Tammy asked, hoping that the absence of the woman who'd put her in her first makeup "mask" (that already felt like it needed to be fixed) was more than just temporary. "I convinced her that we needed some time together; alone, as a family. Seeing as, uh, you girls have just arrived," Steve Douglas told them with no little relief himself. "That's great!" Tammy smiled. (She tried to forget about the way her face must look; she didn't have any makeup, even if she knew what to do with it.) "Yeah," Jesse agreed. "It's hard enough learning to be girl, without a woman like that rating how well you're doing it." (Staying stoop-shouldered helped keep her nipples away from the material.) "You can say that again," Tammy agreed. "Well, it won't last, I'm afraid," Their father said through tight lips. His well-known tact had backed him into another corner. "She more or less 'made me' invite her over to next Sunday's dinner. I have a feeling it's going to be an inspection." "'Sunday dinner', hunh?" Tammy nodded. "That sounds like her style. She says we have to go to formal occasions, if we're to help you with your promotion, Dad." "My promotion? Well, I don't think..." Steve Douglas started saying in that mild-mannered way he could get. "She even thought I should be your permanent hostess." "Hostess?!" Her father was startled. "You know, at formal parties, were you wear evening clothes," Tammy explained. Then, looking down (and seeing mostly her 36D projections), added, "Or, on me, evening gowns." "Ev... ening... gowns?" The muddled thought of his second oldest former son being old enough to wear a low-cut, form-fitting... "What's taking everybody so long!?!" his safely ten-year-old youngest former called out. Winnie was holding the door open, and a couple of older teens ducked in past her, nearly bumping into those wanting to exit through the opened door. +++ They were outside in the mild Bryant Park weather of late September. It was nearly as warm as summer. But there was enough of a breeze to make the two oldest sibs uncomfortably aware of their bare (and unshaved) legs. Especially, Jesse. [Tammy had, at least, in principle, accepted the idea; she had, also, (it seemed to her) been dragged all over the store in a double-knit (which meant "holes" to her) dress (which meant one large hole at the bottom), and was, now, in a pink skirt of some stiff material (which meant it didn't want to "hang down properly"--an even wider hole).] It had been Jesse's idea to get a coat just so she could hide behind it. She had now lowered it, to shield her legs from the breeze. The black material, though, was starting to heat her legs. And heat rises. "I know I parked the car around here, somewhere," Steve Douglas said, looking around from his tall shoulders. Jesse, looking around to see if anybody was noticing her in a dress, told him, "It's a white station wagon." (If only she'd taken the time to pick something that didn't stand out like gingham.) "I know what our own car looks like," he told her back. From up ahead: "Here's a white station wagon!" Winnie pointed. "Finally!" Jesse said, picking up her pace (and stirring up a breeze of her own). "No: Sorry!" Winnie called to the approaching group. "It's not ours. It's full of girl things." "Girl things?" Her Dad asked. Glancing inside, they could see that, in the back, there was baby doll in stroller (neither new); a "Play Nurse" medical kit; a couple of Barbies, with some loose change of clothes on the floor on the left side (the Ken doll in the box may have been new); a ballerina outfit (apparently unwashed) draped over the back of the passenger seat; and, hanging from the rearview mirror by their bows, kittens. "Oh, gross!" Jesse said. "'Gross'?" her Dad was out of synch enough not to immediately understand. "What's gross?" Winnie asked, looking inside, again. "There's a part of girlhood, I hadn't thought of, yet," Tammy said like an engineer. "'Girlhood'?" Winnie repeated. "Does that mean you want to play with dolls, and girl things?!" "We're too old for dolls!" Jesse told her (little more loudly than she had to). "But you're not," Tammy said to the youngest. "Me!!?!" Winnie cried. "Why do I got to do it!?!!" "'Because that's what girls your age do'," her Dad said as if it as the generality, not as a personal wish for his youngest girl. "Oh, that's just great! I don't get to do any of the things they have to do, but I do have to do they don't have to do! Just because I'm the littlest!!" "Don't go having a fit!" Jesse said, shifting her weight from one wedgie to the other. "Why not!?! I'm the little kid! If I have to do little girl stuff, then I ought to be able to act like a little girl and throw tantrums!!" she practically hollered, trying to make it convincing. But a tantrum meant kicking up her knees as well as her feet. It exposed the white panties under her short blue ribbed jumper. Steve Douglas did his best to ignore it; there wasn't supposed to be anything too wrong with girls Winnie's age giving glimpses of their underpants, right? If there were, then why put the little girls in such short dresses? (At least that's what his engineer's logic was trying to assure him of.) "Are you finished? Do you like making a scene, Winnie?" "No, I don't!" the adopted child who was once a 'professional foster kid' said, trying to come down from her now even higher voice. "Good psychological ploy, Dad," Tammy complemented the parent, as her hand moved up the side of the sweater. ("Dad" was about to correct her, when...) "Yeah," Jesse grumbled. "You don't think I can?!" Winnie challenged, but was still red in the face from her first attempt. (Steve considered it more a strength than a weakness, his ability to hold back comment until he had to.) "No," Tammy said without smiling. "We all know how much you don't like standing out." (She was trying not to pull at the bra underneath her sweater and blouse.) "Only, now, you'd be standing out as a girl," Jesse's tone told Winnie she wasn't enjoying the thought, even more than Tammy. (Now she wanted to mess with the cloth over her irritated nipples!) "Do you want draw attention to yourself?" "No," The little girl who wasn't use to being a little girl had to agree. (Steve Douglas's motto was the ancient Chinese saying, "A wise man is the fool who holds his tongue; for a fool, by opening his mouth, removes all doubt.") "If people get to noticing you, then people who knew you when you weren't a girl could start hearing about you," Tammy said, a bit more abstractly than he could have. "Yeah," Jesse said, sounding as if she were applying the lesson to herself. "People who knew you before might start to wonder." (It did help to have children who had their own wisdom.) "You're right," Winnie conceded. "I'm in the last place I'd want people to look for Ernie Douglas. Or even Ernie Livingston." "Then you won't be acting up for a while?" her father asked, expecting he knew the answer. "Not for a while," Winnie said, frowning no more than he usually would. "But I can't promise how long that 'for a while' is. I got things going on in me." "That's to be expected," Steve Douglas nodded. "You've gone through a big change." And he swept the others into his gaze, "You all have." He saw a woman and two girls, younger and older than Winnie, approaching. There were also a few people who had paused to look at their scene. Steve put his hand on Winnie's small shoulder, and motioned for the others to come. "And I have had to ask you to make big adjustments. I am proud of how well you have handled it all so far." They moved further up the "Free with Proof of Purchase" parking lot in front of the department store. "It is quite understandable you will slip, once in a while. You have a lot of pressure built up inside. Especially since you have the added ones that, er, come from being female." "What does that mean?" Winnie asked. "You don't have to know, yet," Jesse told her. "How do you know? Being a girl kid has its pressures, too, you know." "There..." Their Dad said, "There's some pressure, now. As an engineer, I deal with pressure," Steve's words slowed down, as he thought on how he was going to make the metaphoric leap. "You mean airplane cabin pressure?" Winnie asked. "Or the air pressure over wings?" Then she thought of, "Or the fuel--" "My point is," He reasserted control, "that we have to find healthy and constructive ways to release that pressure before it can build up to damaging proportions." "Which is?" Tammy asked. (Do girls ever get use to bras?) "Which is... --I have no idea, yet! But we have to come up with ideas!" "Amen," Winnie agreed. "There's an idea!" Steve said. "Of course, I don't think our old church is--" "Hey, there it is! Our station wagon!" Tammy said, quickly heading for it. +++ "It's our car alright!" Tammy announced after checking inside. It had boys things in the back. There was the bat, four gloves, and three baseballs (one softball); a metal "Spitfire" fighter; some comics; and one of Robbie's wadded up sweat suit; in the rear seat there was a towel and one of Chip's bathing trunks. "Now, we can go home!" Winnie said. "No. Not yet," their Dad said. "I win the bet," Jesse said, sounding like a loser. "Why can't we go home?!" Winnie asked, wanting to stamp a foot. "You're not going to buy me dolls, are you!?!" Her Dad opened the front passenger door, and indicated she was to get on the front seat with him, this time. Winnie knew it meant something, because, as Ernie, she'd almost always sat in back seat. The front seat was reserved by age. Reluctantly, she got in (taking the bag with her old boy clothes he gave her), while her Dad talked, "It began when you started wearing that wig. But seeing you in dresses really did it." "Then I won't wear a dress," Winnie said, pulling at the hem of the short jumper. (The door was closed.) Setting her bag down ahead of her: "Nice try," Jesse said, taking her own seat in the back. (But: "Man!" she said, not used to sitting on warm vinyl with bare legs. Only by chance, the material of her gingham dress had accordioned, placing a couple plies between the car seat and her cotton panties.) Winnie's Dad knocked on the closed window. Winnie was forced to roll it down. "Ever since you began looking like a girl, I have been unable to get past those thick glasses," he said, leaning to be able to see in. "These are the kind of glasses I've always worn. They came with me; I was adopted in them." "I know. It's just that..." Having put her bag in next to Jesse's: "Dad means what may've been okay for a boy, but isn't for a girl," Tammy said, having difficulty sitting down on the car seat with the stiff glace dress. "You mean that I have to get rid of everything that belonged to Ernie," Winnie said, dispirited. (Her Dad was going around the front of the wagon.) "We mean that girls have to look pretty. That's the rule," Jesse told her. "Those glasses do not let you be pretty." "I don't care if I'm not pretty." "Well, other people do," Jesse said, sounding like she was one of them. "It messes with their esthetics to have to look at you with those things on." "Dad?!" Winnie appealed to the man getting into the driver's seat. "Er, I'm afraid Jesse's right," he had to nod. "It just does not look right with you looking like that." Tammy had finally figured out she had to sweep her hands under the skirt, and sit on it, "Just think of what kind of attention the 'Mona Lisa' would get." "It would be the wrong kind, hunh?" Winnie said, knowing they were attacking his weak spot. "Think of it this way, Winnie," Jesse told him. "Those are clunky foster-kid glasses; you know, the cheap kind. Dad's going to spring for real glasses. The kind kids with real Dad's get." "Hey, you might be right!" Winnie smiled, getting a new view on what was going to happen. Anyway. +++ It had been a short trip. Basically, Park Vista Optical was across the street (They just had to cut across traffic and find a parking meter; but it did save them the trouble of finding the white station wagon again.) "Are you coming?" Her Dad asked from the half-opened storefront door. "In a minute." Winnie was looking in the display window. There were little raised daises with different frames on them. But what held her eye was the three mannequin heads. They were all female. They had no bodies (not even any hair), but they were female, none the same. They had 'makeup' on. Winnie's focus drew back; she saw her own reflection in the window. She didn't look anything like those heads. She looked like Ernie, as far as she was able to see. It had to be the glasses. Change them, and she would change into somebody else. Then she would look like a girl, for sure. Winnie still had mixed feelings. But, if she was going to be wearing dresses, then she would want to look like a girl. Nobody was going to mistake her for a boy. Okay, then! She would get the most girl glasses they had. If she couldn't go back, she would go ahead. If she really looked like a real girl, that would be the end of it, right?! There would be no need for dolls, or 'Play Nurse', or ballet! No one would mistake her for a boy, so that would mean she would be free to act like a boy, right? Right?! "Winnie! What's keeping you?!" Jesse asked, impatiently, wishing she had been allowed to stay in the car. Out of sight, and off of the wedgies. But it'd been so warm in there that she'd even forgotten and left her coat in there. It was either here, or at the jeweler's next door with Tammy. "I was thinking," Winnie explained. "Thinking about what?" Jesse said, fetching her. "I don't remember. I think I was being logical about glasses, but there was a lot of other junk mixed in." "You mean feelings," She said, pushing her forward. "Yeah. How come I can have more feelings about glasses, than dresses?" "Because you're a kid. You don't know what dresses do to boys," Jesse said, getting her to open the door. +++ Inside there was a display case on the wall, rank and file full of frames, mostly women's. On the other wall, behind the mannequin heads, were framed pictures of people wearing glasses. Those that weren't close-ups were of people doing things. Winnie noticed that women didn't do the things men did, unless she was with a man. "What are you doing, now?" Jesse asked. Winnie had wandered out from in front of her. "I can understand how you can play golf in glasses, but how do you play tennis? Isn't there a lot running around, and stuff?" Jesse sighed at the little kid. "You wear chains, see?" she said, pointing at a close-up of a woman with little beads attached to the earpieces like a necklace, only in the wrong direction. Winnie squinted as she looked at it more closely, "How does that help? It does down and around as far as I can see." "It helps because you don't lose them when you're running around." "But the chain doesn't keep them on your face when you're running around." "You're not supposed to do much running around. You're a girl! That's why girls are supposed to wear dresses." "I thought making it easier to go to the bathroom was the reason. And letting the air dry you when you don't make it in time." "Girls!" Their Dad said, trying to interrupt this conversation. 10: Framing 'Mona Lisa' "You had to go and mention bathrooms," Jesse frowned, glancing over at the man in the lab coat behind the optometrist counter- table. The stranger, though smiling, was trying to be polite. Their father frowned at them. Jesse said to Winnie, "That's the first time he called us 'girls'." "Keep mentioning girls and bathrooms, and I'm going to have to find one. I'm overdue, you know." "What is with it?! It has got to do with the power of suggestion!" Jesse said, starting to fidget on her legs. +++ "She's got longer legs; and I was trying not to have an accident, again," Winnie explained. "Well, sit down, and learn to wait," her father told her. "It's not a public restroom, this time." "Yes, sir," she said, holding onto the sides of the padded chair in front of the counter-table. "I guess I can wait. I don't know, because I never had to, yet. Maybe if I practice--" "That'll be enough of that talk in public, young, er, lady," Her father told her, glancing over in embarrassment at the man in the glasses. His nameplate said 'Van Leeuwenhoek'. "Lady!? That's worse than 'girl'," Winnie said with the look of somebody with a 'bad taste in their mouth'. "And I wouldn't have to, if you behaved like one and didn't have to be reminded." "Yes, sir," Winnie said in a more subdued tone. "But I won't be one, if I have an accident, either." "What do we say we help take your mind of, uh, things, by concentrating on glasses. Have you seen a pair that you like?" Winnie looked at those on the smaller glass shelves in the display case on the wall to her left (they looked 'ordinary'), and then across her shoulder (until her Dad moved the chair she was in) at the larger display case where the more stylized ones were kept. She was going to get up to get a closer look at those few that caught her attention; but she decided not to get out of the chair, yet. "You can tell the women's glasses; they've got wings." "Not all of them," he Dad said. "Here are tortoise shells that are just like men's... only thinner." "The glass parts are thinner, too. Women have bigger eyes than men. You'd think they'd need bigger lenses to see as good." The optician chuckled. "It doesn't work that way, Miss." "Now, I'm a 'Miss'," Winnie muttered. With a nod of the head: "You... females," he corrected himself, "do gather more light, and have more cones, than us poor males." "We do?" "The world is a brighter, more colorful place for the opposite gender." Winnie kept herself from blinking, and stared at nothing in particular, "Then why didn't I notice it before?!" "I think your, uh, other senses," Ker Dad told her, patting her shoulder (while checking on the optician) "...were wanting your attention more." "That's for sure," Winnie said. "Especially feeling. I think girls are loaded with feeling, too." "The female senses are generally more acute," Mr. Leeuwenhoek smiled. "Oh, yuck! They even have cute senses." (The optician thought that was cute.) "That's not what "acute" means, Winnie," her Dad informed her. "It means 'keen'." "I don't think they're keen at all." "You must get that kind of language from TV reruns," Jesse said, returning from the back. (Her father noticed there was slight flush about her.) "Nobody says 'keen' any more." "I don't think having girl senses are 'neato', either." (At least, Steve Douglas noted, Jesse seemed to have the good shame to want to forget it by a show of 'normalcy'.) "The word, now, is 'boss'," Jesse told her out-of-it sib as she moved into the lobby. "I don't want them to boss me, either," Winnie persisted, getting down from the chair while keeping her thighs together. "I don't think you have any choice, there," Jesse said, moving out of her way. +++ "Look," Jesse said, "Granny glasses. They're supposed to be getting popular." Her Dad noted his the poor posture she was still using on purpose; stooped over, shoulders rounded. "'Granny glasses'?" Steve Douglas took his eyes off her chest to look at the pair of wire frames in the large display. "As in Granny of 'The Beverly Hillbillies'?" "Yeah. I think that is why they're called that," Jesse said. "How do you think I'd look in them?" she asked, taking them off one of the little shelves. "Like a Granny?" "They would make me look older," Jesse said, trying them on. "Well?" Still smiling, Mr. Leeuwenhoek leaned an elbow on one of the pilasters that framed the 'window' of his counter-table. "Irene Ryan, the actress that plays Granny, doesn't wear anything but reading glasses, you know. Granny didn't wear glasses in the first episodes. They put them on her character to make her look cuter." "Cute!?" Jesse found that he had the same reaction as her little sister. "People find that cute?" Steve Douglas asked. (Her reaction had him noticing, disapprovingly, her chest and nipples.) "Because they are," his glasses glinted. "I have women come in here all the time who buy the so-called 'butterfly' frames. They want the extensions because of the extra doodads, and even jewelry, they can add. They think of frames as another accessory. Look at the different shapes they come in, and this is a small shop. You should see the catalogues. It brings in more money, so I don't complain. But, personally, I think it all makes them look ridiculous." "'Ridiculous'? I don't think we should tell Winnie," Jesse said to her Dad, taking her frames off. "Do you want her to find out the hard way?" he said, thinking about it. (I'm going to have to have a talk about your wearing bras.) "A choice between ridiculous or cute," Jesse said, returning the Granny frames. "There are a middle grounds," Her Dad said, looking (away) and nodding at the options. "Right: These tortoise shells!" Jesse suggested. "She already said they're too narrow." "If you want my opinion," Mr. Leeuwenhoek said, "I like the clear frames." "These?" Jesse asked, picking them off the display. "They're clear; you can see clear through to the silver wire." "You can't depend on plastic to hold the lenses properly or keep their place on your ears," the optician said. "But the plastic makes them more substantial, less 'cute', as it were. It adds structure to your face, without dominating it." "That, uh, sounds correct," Steve Douglas, the engineer, said. "When you have a problem, you consult an expert." "Instead of accessorizing by changing the frame, and having to keep track of the morning and evening frames, casual versus formal, et cetera, all a woman has to do is what she would do anyway. To wit, change her eye makeup." "I'm not wearing eye makeup," Winnie said, making her return. "Or any other kind of gunk like that." Mr. Leeuwenhoek swiveled his upper body around to see her, "You don't need mascara, when you have naturally dark lashes like you have, little lady." "'Little lady'!?" Winnie reacted. "He was just having a little fun," Her Dad explained, studying the man to judge just how much. "I am an 'expert' when it comes to eyes," The easy-going man bowed his head to the father, then returned his twinkle to Winnie. "Those baby-blues will be real heartbreakers, when she gets old enough. Boys will fall into them." "Not if you cover them up," Jesse said, having just put the clear plastic glasses back. "Yeah!" Winnie said, not liking the way the adult looked at her eyes. "How?" Jesse shuffled her foot out, and almost put a hand on one of those flaring hips. "The sunglasses?" "Oh: Yeah! The disguise!" Winnie smiled. "We can get prescription sunglasses, here! You promised, Dad!" "You want to be the mysterious woman," the man said it as if that were the answer. "People will wonder what secrets your inscrutable eyes are hiding. 'There she goes... What is she afraid to expose to the light?' Or do you just want to look like a movie star?" "I want sunglasses so people won't stare at me!" Winnie told him. "No; sorry. It doesn't work that way. Unless you're part of a crowd of femme fatales, somebody in a dark glasses is going to stand out and be noticed." "I hate to admit it, but the he's right, Winnie," Jesse said. "A little girl in sunglasses would stand out like a sore thumb. People would think you're playing some dumb little kid's game." "I guess I was being a dumb little kid," Winnie said, feeling just like that at the moment. "Wearing sunglasses would let people know it just by looking at me." The little bell over the door tinkled. "Aren't you guys ready, yet?" Tammy asked. "Ready to get all of this girl shopping over with, and go home!" Winnie announced, heading for the chair. (The optician sat down across from her.) "What took you so long?" Jesse asked. "I thought you were just going to get a watch. What did you do, turn girl, and buy a bunch of jewelry?" "Leave me out of it!" Winnie told her. "Even if I wanted to wear any of that junk, I bet nothing would look good with the glasses I'm going to get." "If you get a standard pair of woman's frames, you would have trouble accessorizing," Mr. Leeuwenhoek said, holding out a hand towards Jesse. "The pair I prescribe will look good with anything you wear." (Jesse, realizing he wanted the clear plastic glasses, got them, again.) "They conceal nothing; not even those wonderful eyebrows of yours," he said, carefully taking off her thick, black frames of Ernie Douglas. Winnie felt... well, it wasn't naked; more like bare faced. "Eyebrows!?" Tammy said as if she'd realized she'd left the bathtub running at home. "What now?" Jesse asked Tammy as she handed the glasses to the optician. "Another girl something we have to think about?" "I'm afraid so," Tammy said, sounding like she meant it. "Girls pluck their eye brows." "Doesn't that hurt?" Winnie asked, blinking at the bright blur. (The man put the lenseless frames on her.) "What do you think!" Jesse said. "Then why do they do it?!" Winnie said, adjusting the frames for herself. "Why do they do half the dumb things they do?! They're girls!" (Mr. Leeuwenhoek had to chuckle.) "Girls have a thing about body hair," Tammy told her. "Not only do they pluck, and tweeze, they shave their--" "That will be quite enough of that subject... away from home," her Dad interrupted. He kept his eye on the optician as the man tried to get Winnie to focus her astigmatism on the small mirror on the counter-tabletop. "Personally, I think women do the thin eyebrows to death," the man talked, letting himself be entertained. "Penciled eyebrows look no more attractive than pencil moustaches. If you don't like eyebrows, do it right. To wit, be like the 'Mona Lisa'." "There's Mona Lisa, again," Winnie said, finally looking towards the mirror. "What's so special about her? What does she have, anyway?" "It's what she doesn't have, Winnie," Tammy told her. "Yeah; eyebrows," Jesse nodded. "She doesn't have eyebrows?" Winnie was surprised, turning around in the chair. "Why not? Was she sick?" "She shaved them," Tammy told her. "Man. Talk about having a thing against body hair." "It was the fashion in her day!" Jesse told her. "I told you fashion can make girls do dumb things." "How can a woman with no eyebrows be the most beautiful?" Winnie tried to figure it out. "I know that fuller eyebrows goes against current fashion," Mr. Leeuwenhoek said, "But I think they add character to a face. As long as they don't make you look like part of the Russian Olympic team." Steve Douglas was relieved as a father that the man had stopped being overly attentive to Winnie; he was definitely, now, paying more attention to the older ones. "Take the two other girls," that man said, "They have wonderfully expressive eyebrows. Especially the very pretty younger one, there." An electric jolt went through Steve Douglas: He was the father of girls, now! Here was a man who was paying excessive attention them--especially his thirteen-year-old! Thirteen (especially one without a bra) was far too young for a grown man to pay attention to their... faces. Steven Douglas was confused. "If my eyebrows make me pretty, maybe I should pluck them," Jesse said. "Didn't you hear him?" Tammy said. "Thick eyebrows are not something people think of when they think of pretty. That is why girls thin them. They're just something he likes. You could grow a third nose, and a Picasso collector would think you're pretty. No matter what you do, there's going to be somebody who'll think something about a girl is pretty." "I'll take the third nose; not too many people can afford Picasso's," Jesse said. Feeling very weary, their father spoke up, "Can we please get the lenses fitted, and out of here?" +++ While they were waiting, Jesse looked at Tammy's new wristwatch. "I thought you'd at least get one with a leather strap." It was had a gold 'Twist 'n' Flex' band, instead. And the face of it didn't look all that 'normal' either. What was it about women and thinner? "So did I," Tammy admitted. "I saw a brown one; one like I have in the bag with my old clothes. Only thinner, of course. That's the one I wanted to buy." "Then why didn't you buy it?" Winnie asked, looking in their general direction. The optician had his old pair in the room behind the counter-table, calibrating them for the new lenses. "That's the kind I'm going to get." "You don't need a wristwatch," her Dad told her. "I'm going to have a hard enough time paying for today's purchases." "Then can I have Tammy's and Jesse's old watches?" Jesse reflexively put her hand over hers. "I'm going to keep mine, you heard Dad," Jesse told her. "There's no good reason why I have to get a new watch just because it's not 'feminine', or something. Who pays attention to a girl's wrists!" "Other girls," Tammy said. "That's what the saleswoman in the store kept telling me." "That's what the woman in the department store said, too!" Winnie said. "It's a conspiracy," Jesse said sourly. Tammy was fidgeting with the wristwatch's metal accordion links, "Well, it may not be a carefully planned conspiracy; but I think that's the general idea." "Yeah," Winnie said, remembering the talk they had with the lady that helped Jesse get her new girl clothes, "girls like to mess with your psyche." "My psyche is already messed up," Jesse said, her hand over her boy's wristwatch like it was a magic talisman that would keep away any more monsters. "So, can I have your old watch, now?" Winnie asked her oldest sib. "It'll be too big for your wrist," Tammy smiled. "It's too big for mine, now." "I can punch new holes in the strap. I don't even have to wear it. I'd just like a watch, and keep it in my pockets," Winnie admitted. "If I have pockets." "You can have one of mine," Her Dad said, still feeling tired, and wanting to go. "That's alright," Tammy said. "She can have one of mine. I have enough." "You bought more than one?!" her Dad questioned her, thinking of the breaking budget. "She kept talking about ensemble. And the importance of accessorizing!" Tammy tried to explain what had made sense just a few minutes ago. "You have no sales resistance," Jesse told her older sister, shaking her head. "Is that what happens to you, when you're a girl?" Winnie asked. "Only on TV," her Dad told her, frowning at Tammy. (who was feeling the sting). "When they want to make fun of them." +++ Mr. Leeuwenhoek returned with Winnie's new glasses, cleaning them with a cloth. "I think you'll learn to appreciate these. Your sisters may even consider a pair, for cosmetic purposes." "Cosmetic?" Tammy asked, appearing to be interested. "How can glasses be 'cosmetic'?" Jesse had to ask. "Cosmetic means makeup; that eye, lip, and other gunk on your face." The optician sat down in his chair, "Glasses can help shape your face, compensating for a perceived flaw, or accentuating your assets. They can add drama and interest." "I still don't get it," Jesse said. "Me, neither," Winnie said. Tammy thought she did, "He means that if you think your face is too round, you should get a more square frame; too angular, you get a rounder one." "Exactly," the optician said, putting Winnie's new glasses on her. "These frames have a slight trapezoid; they will take some of the length and roundness away from your sister's face." "It sounds like it will make her look a little old for her age," her Dad said with that mildly disapproving frown of his. "Really?!" Winnie grinned, not waiting for the man to finish so she could see herself in the countertop mirror. "She will not look like a child in her mother's makeup, if that's what has you worried," Mr. Leeuwenhoek assured the father. "Hey!" Winnie said, moving her head slowly from side to side as she continued to look into the mirror. "The plastic picks up my skin color!" "It picks up any color behind it, and changes it enough for you to see the shape of the frames." The man smiled proudly. "'Skin colored' glasses!?!" Now Steve Douglas knew he didn't like them. "Nothing of the sort," the man said. "Turn around, and let your family have a good look," he said to Winnie. Winnie had to stretch her bare legs to get her foot to the floor. She decided just to stand up. "See? Unlike other glasses, they do not hide her pretty face." "I think they make her look a little weird," Jesse said. "That's because you're not use to seeing me in anything but those thick old glasses," Winnie told her. "No..." Tammy said, studying the effect. "If it weren't for the color change of the frames, it would look like you had one little eye, and one large eye." "That can't be helped," the optician said. "That is the effect of the lens. That is what glasses are really for, after all." "Hmm," Tammy said. "I guess they're okay." "They're okay by me," Winnie said. "You don't mind wearing, uh, 'different' glasses?" her Dad asked. "Are they strange, 'look at that weird little kid' different?" "Uh, no; I guess not." "Then they're good enough. Let's take them, and go." "I have to pay for them first," he said to her. Then, as he got out his checkbook, he said to the man, "May I ask, why you seemed to be pushing this particular type of frame?" Mr. Leeuwenhoek smiled, and quoted, "'When you have a problem, consult an expert'. Those are ones I designed. I hope to retire soon." 11: Places for a Girl to Keep Things The Douglas family walked to their station wagon, parked in front of a meter along the row of storefronts. "I'll be glad when we can walk through our front door," the girl's father said, feeling like a long nap. If that would've left the day's problems outside, he knew that just sitting in his easy chair could have him sleeping well-past dinnertime. "Me four," Winnie said. "Then I can get out of this stupid dress." "You still don't get it, do you, Winnie," Jesse said, walking somewhat funny. "We're not going to get to get out of these dresses until we get ready to get into bed." "What do girls wear to bed? Pajamas, I hope." "Oh..." Steve Douglas wearily groaned. "We forgot about that!" He looked across the wide street at the department store, trying to get up the energy to return. "Here's something else we forgot," Tammy said, pointing towards a shop a couple of doors ahead. "'Luggage'?" The Dad said. "I know girls have a lot of clothes, but we're not going anywhere for a while... We no longer have the money, for one thing!" "Not luggage," Tammy said, heading for one of its display windows, "purses!" "Purses!" Winnie yipped tiredly. "You're really determined to go all the way, aren't you," Jesse accused. "I'm being practical. In case you hadn't noticed, girls don't have many pockets. What are you going to carry your things in?" "I won't be carrying many things," Winnie reported. "All it seems I'm going to be allowed to have are girl things. Why would I want to have something to hold what I don't want to have with me?" "Ditto," Jesse said. "It's hard enough to forget you're a girl, without having an added reminded in your hand. The hands are your most sensitive area, you know. (Well, one of them)," she added pulling on the material over her braless nipples. "Yeah," Winnie agreed. "How can you forget, when you got something you always got to remember what you did with it. I'm a little kid, I have a hard enough trouble remembering what I did with things I want to remember about." "You're a little kid, alright; do you know what non-kid girls have to have in their purses?" Jesse said, thinking of herself. "I know how much stuff they have!" Winnie answered. "They're always taking out a ton of stuff when they take things out, on TV. They make fun of women's purses even more than little kid's pockets crammed full of junk!" "There! See? We do need purses, and handbags, or shoulder bags," Tammy said, studying the selection she could see from outside. "Dad?" Winnie asked. "You were once married, what do women keep in their purses and bags? Is TV making it up?" "Well, er..." Steve Douglas thought about what to tell his new little girl. "Uh, no, Winnie. Women do seem to carry around a number of items." "Like what? Do they really have things like doorknobs, and frogs in there?" "Frogs??" he was sure he hadn't heard that correctly. "On TV, frogs are always getting into bags." "Then you should like bags; you're a little kid," Jesse said, trying to improve her mood. "I'm not that kind of little kid," Winnie defended herself. "Odd things do get put in bags while they're waiting to be taken some place else," Steve smiled at some memories. "But mostly they're for the things that women have to have just because they're... Oh, no!" "What now?!" Jesse wanted to whine. "It's something we're not going to like, I bet," Winnie said. "No contest," Jesse said. "I'm glad I didn't have to bring it up, Dad," Tammy said, approaching the group. "Can't it wait?" Steve asked in what sounded almost like a plea. "You're the one who should know the best, of all of us. What would Mom say?" "Your Mom?" he said, having to remember things he didn't like to think about even when she was alive and he had to. "Let's put it this way," Tammy said. "Do you want to get it over with; or wait, and have to face it in the future?" "You're right," he was forced to concede. "What are they talking about?" Winnie asked. "How should I know?" Jesse told her. "When I was a boy, I wasn't old enough to know. It's probably something, as a boy, I wouldn't care to know." But she could guess. Even, if she didn't want to. "There are a lot of things like that about girls," Winnie nodded. "Even more, when you're older." "Are you done releasing pressure?" Tammy asked them. "It feels more like I'm building up more," Jesse frowned. Tammy turned to her Dad, "We're going to need something to carry the, uh, 'items' with." "I'm afraid so," Steven Douglas sighed. +++ Inside empty "Park Avenue Luggage and Leather": "Look at all of the animal skins!" Winnie said, doing just that. "What kind is this?" "I think it's snake skin," Jesse said. "Maybe even rattlesnake." "Wow... you mean girls get to have boss stuff like this?" "I don't think killing an animal just because it looks good is 'boss', Winnie," Tammy said, frowning at the thought. "You're the one who brought us in here," Winnie returned. Tammy looked at her Dad, empathetically, "It was either this, or go back to the department store." "Please, not that," Her Dad asked. "Sounds like it might kill Dad," Jesse said. "Can I have something made out of snakes?" Winnie asked. "It wouldn't be so bad to kill a reptile." "Er, snakes, and alligator cost money," Tammy said, still keeping Dad in mind. "Why not just get something out simple cowhide?" "Oh, it's okay to kill something that can't defend itself?" Winnie said, wanting something more unusual. "Look here," Jesse said, with a tag from one of the more exotic bags in her hand, "ostrich." "I imagine they can make leather out of just about anything with skin," Tammy said. "Scales are skins? Does that mean they can make bags out of fish?" Winnie asked. "Here's a shark skin," Jesse said, lifting up another tag. "Sharks aren't fish," Winnie told her. "Yes, they are!" Jesse said. "Not like normal fish." "I'm sure if you wanted to make a wallet out of a trout you caught, they could do it," Tammy said. "Do girls even carry wallets?" Winnie asked. "Can we, please, get this over with?" their father asked. "Where is the salesclerk?" He headed to an area of the glass display counter opposite a curtained door. "Here," Jesse said, going to an area nearby. "Here are wallets. And these have got to be women's; what man's going to use them? They can't even fit in your pocket." "Why do girls got to have wallets, too? They already got purses," Winnie asked. "Girls have got to have something just to have it," Jesse explained. "Look at the department store; there were more things for women, than men." "Actually, I believe it just appeared that way," Tammy said. "Since women do most of the shopping, most of the things for women are near the entrances. They keep the men's things further back, and on less used floors." "I thought it was men who were supposed to be important," Winnie said. "Not when it comes to selling things," Jesse said. "And each one has to have something that makes them different. Think of the shoe department," she frowned to think of it (while Tammy tried not to let it intimidate her). "There are more women's shoes, and just because most are so different from men's that men aren't going to wear them. Why can't they at least make the sizes the same, and put everything in the same department?! It'd save space!" "Try not to get hung up on it," Tammy advised. "And why not? Who has the better right to?!" Jesse told him back. "How about me?" Winnie asked. "You're too young to have to have a hang up about being a girl. By the time you have to be, you'll probably be used to being a girl." "I will not! I can be as unused to being a girl as you can be-- Longer, even!" "What about me?" Tammy said, sounding far too calm and reasonable for second youngest sib. "You get some time to grow into a woman. I have to be all woman all at once: Instant puberty!" "I think you like the idea of being a girl!" Jesse accused. "You were always girl-crazy: Now, you've always got a girl!" "That's quite enough of that!!" Her Dad ordered. "You're saying things that you regret saying. Say something hurtful enough times, and even the most sincere apologies won't mend the rifts!" "You're right, Dad," Tammy said. "Yeah," Jesse wanted to shuffle in her wedgies. "I apologize, before it's too late." "I don't have anything to apologize for," Winnie said. "And, if I did, I'm just a little kid." "Boy, you sure like being a little kid, when you want to be," Jesse said. "Enough!" Her Dad said. "I have let you go on like you have, since talking about what it's like seems to help you adjust. But words can lead you in the wrong direction, as well." His hard face softened as he saw that his words were having the impact he'd hoped they would. "I have been trying to think of ways for you--for us!--to get a handle on, and to learn to deal with what's happened to us. As a family. When you can share your problems, your burdens are lessened." "That's why I'm glad I'm at last part of a family," Winnie said. "It's no fun carrying burdens alone." "Yes," her adopted Dad nodded, trying not to be lead off the subject. "I believe I have found one of those ways we can share, and learn together. As I said, talking about what you're experiencing seems to help you cope; and, judging from what I know about... females," (Winnie winced; Tammy was stoic; and Jesse reacted, Steve thought, like a typical teenager), "words are going to be very important to you." "Therefore, this is what we're going to do," he said, putting his hand on the end of a set of shelves that separated its leather contents from the rest on the shelves by bookends. "We're going to read?" Jesse asked, not believing what her Dad was saying before he said it. "It was bad enough when I found out you might make me play with dolls," Winnie said, "but to have to read girl books! What are you trying to do to us, make us think like girls, too?!" "It wouldn't hurt," Tammy nodded at the idea. "If we can think of ourselves as girls, then being girls would be no big thing. ...Well, no bigger than it is for any girl." "These are not books to read," their Dad explained. "At least not to anybody but the family." And he picked one up of the leather- bound volumes, "They're diaries. We're going to write our thoughts in them." "No, Dad!" Jesse gasped. "Let me have something of my own! All I have left of what was me is my thoughts --And they're going to be thoughts about being a girl!! Terrible, personal girl things!" she realized. "I can't tell my own Dad things like that!!" "Oh, gross!!" Winnie said. "I bet even a real girl wouldn't want to tell her Dad personal junk!" "She'd probably have a hard time even telling her Mom," Tammy agreed. "But we don't have a Mom. We only have each other. Who else are we going to turn to, friends? Dad's right; only by being totally honest, can we establish a foundation on which we can build our lives of lies." "'...Build our lives or lies'??" Her Dad had to repeat. "Yeah?!" Winnie asked, too. "Okay; I was being overly dramatic. I just meant that only the depressed don't fabricate something about their lives, and here we are, having to not let people know we weren't always girls." "I know what she means," Jesse said. "People have some kind of fantasy life, if even just in their minds. And that's what I want: I want to be able to stay a guy inside, as long and as much as I can!" "Then do it, if it'll help you to write," Her Dad told her. "Dad! I don't think that's the right tact!" Tammy said. "It'll encourage her to deny--" Steve Douglas held up his hand, "You can write about being a boy, a guy, or a man, or even a giraffe, but after you've written your contribution to the family discussion about being a girl." "Hey! Me, too?" Winnie asked. "Can I write about being a superhero, or something? Like Superman?!" "You'd be better off writing about being Super-girl," Tammy told her. "Whatever gets them into the habit of writing," their father said. "As an engineer, I'm constantly having to write reports. There can be no bigger job than for you to become girls that not only I, but, most especially, yourselves can be proud of." "Proud of being a girl?" the thought did not taste well in Winnie's mouth. "That sounds fine; a real family communion time..." Jesse did not feel take-in, "But there will only be one thing missing: You, Dad." "Me!?!" Even before Jesse had finished her accusation, somebody came in through the curtain: "Oh! I did have customers!" said a man who looked like Edgar G. Robinson; even to the cigar. "I'm sorry about this. I was away on an emergency! I guess I forgot to hang up the 'Closed' sign. I may be called away, again. I'm going to have to ask you to leave, then. Now, what are you here for?!" "How can there be a leather emergency?" Tammy wondered. "Maybe there's a rodeo in town," Winnie suggested. "Yeah!" Jesse said, her mood deepened by being interrupted while saying something important. (Having to stand in wedgies for so long didn't help, either.) "The prize riding bull got sick." The man in the blue serge and red vest said, "Look, everybody has a personal life. Even mugs like me. I don't need you, see? I know how females are. Yeah! You discuss every little detail of this bag; and that bag. And that one over there. By the time I've heard more about your shoes, gloves, hats, and other 'considerations' than I ever wanted to consider, you dames decide to go to the department store across the street. There, you can get 'the complete look'." "I don't remember any like the more exotic things you have," Tammy said, motioning to the 'Safari Collection'. "You noticed things like that?" Winnie asked. "She was already considering her considerations," Jesse said. "How can you not notice zebra and leopard fur?" Tammy answered. "Fur is leather?" Winnie asked, looking at the name on the window, now backwards. "You can't afford them," the man with the receding hairline said. "'General's' does have alligator. Alligator is very big right now. They farm them you, know." "And wrestle them!" Winnie spoke up. "I saw them do it on TV." "They make fashion statements out of the losers, hunh?" Jesse said. "I'd want it to be the winner." "Uh, Mr..." Steve Douglas stated to speak. "Smith. John Smith." "Alright," Douglas frowned at the smoothly rude man, "We just came from the department store; we have no wish to return, today. My two oldest need purses and bags. And we don't need to 'consider' anything but price." "You can see what I have to sell," he gestured. "The prices are clearly marked." "But what, exactly, do girls, of their age, require?" their father asked. "Don't they know?" "We haven't had much practice being girls," Tammy admitted. "Yeah. They're still practicing," Winnie said. "We would appreciate any help you could provide," Steve Douglas sharply suggested to the salesclerk. "If I can provide any," he frowned at the attitude. "What kind of help do you want from me?" "What do girls their age need in the way of purses and bags?" Douglas impatiently repeated. "I would think it would have to do with what they need to put in it." "Seems like we put the cart before the horse," Tammy said. "No: We're not going to come back. We're here, now," Her Dad told her. "I know enough about woman to figure it out." "If only you were more rested," Tammy said. "I've dated enough to have seen inside enough girls' bags," she volunteered to help. "I'm not so tired I can't figure it out," Steve Douglas answering the challenge. "You don't need wallets. You have wallets. Every girl needs a purse, though." "Me, too?" Winnie asked, not wanting to be left out, again. "You, too, I guess. You need something to carry... something in." "Right!" Winnie smiled, satisfied. "Because girls don't have pockets." "You'll need a bag--A large bag--to carry the purse and, uh, other items in. Something with plenty of pockets to hide those 'other' items in. Out of sight." "So that's where the pockets are!" Winnie said. "They're in the bags!" +++ Winnie wasn't sure whether she was happy or not to have a black patent bag that, otherwise, reminded her of an envelope, and was only just a couple sizes larger. It was basically a purse with a long, thin shoulder strap and small gold-look rings. "What is it with kid girls and shiny black?" Her diary, though, was made out of genuine rattlesnake. The attached bookmark even had the rattle at its end. "At least I'll have something that looks sharp." Jesse had the basic brown leather purse, and the basic brown leather shoulder bag. They did, though, have a lot of pockets. "I want a place for as many secrets as I can keep." Her diary, too, was basic. But instead of being tanned, the cover was made of rawhide. "I think that expresses my opinion." Tammy's were without outside pockets. The purse was black with red with trim, and her flap shoulder bag was red with black trim. "I can't have everything brown. The accessories are meant to be colorful, aren't they?" Her diary, though, was pure black. "I'm a traditionalist, basically." 12: The Aisle of the Moon Mr. 'John Smith' was in the middle of the credit card paperwork, when the phone on the wall beside the curtained doorway rang. He quickly turned, and answered it. "It is you. Is it really on, this time? There's no mistake? Right, then! I'll meet you there!" When he hung up, he had a worried look. "I just wish it didn't have to be done during business hours." He pointed at Douglas with his cigar, "In the middle of the night: That's when it's usually done!" "I, uh, am sure I don't know what you're talking about," he answered, uncomfortable. "Sure you do!" and he reached into a breast pocket. "Here! I believe it's customary to hand out cigars," and he handed him one. "Cigars?? You mean..." "That's right!" the man almost smiled, as he hurried to finish up. "This is the first one that's come this far! Nearly full term, you know!" +++ The man made sure to put up the 'Closed' sign and lock up. The Douglas's watched him head for the back curtain. "Why didn't we get something?" Winnie asked. "We're too young to smoke," Jesse said. "And girls don't smoke cigars, anyway," Tammy said. "But is it only men who get birthday presents?" "It doesn't seem right, does it," Tammy said. "After all--" "Will you not talk about it!" Jesse insisted. "Do we have to talk about everything!?" "I'm afraid we do," Tammy said. "Especially where we're headed next. Right, Dad?" Their Dad looked even more haggard. "Er, right. As much as we'd like to avoid the subject, it's, uh... one that won't let you avoid it." His tone changed into one more like a pep talk, "But it's, uh, a good thing, really. There would be no family, no love, uh, without it." "Tell that to the non-warm-blooded," Jesse scowled at him, crossing her arms under her breasts. "But we are warm-blood. Hot-blooded, at times, and--" "Dad!!" Jesse cried, uncrossing her arms. "Who wants to think of their parents like that!" "I don't," Winnie agreed. "I want to think of Dad as calm and rational; even boring." "Dad," Tammy interrupted. "I think you're going further than you need to." "Right," he said, looking around at the passersby to see if any understood what he'd been rambling about. +++ A several blocks later they found a local chain drugstore they'd never been in, and, hopefully, would never have to be in again. They didn't want anybody to remember what would have to be one of their most embarrassing episodes, yet. The 10-year-old in the blue jumper was the first out of the car. "This is when we get the makeup," Winnie said, clearly with mixed emotions; mostly because of the "we" she was trying to sneak in. "'We' are not getting makeup," her Dad told her over the roof of the station wagon. "Don't include me in that 'we', either!" Jesse, in her blue gingham dress, was the last to get out (and onto her wedgies). "Dad promised I was too young to wear makeup." Tammy, in a bouffant wig and a pink 50's design, was coming around the wagon: "You should at least get a base or foundation, or whatever they call what you use to cover your face with." "'You' may want to cover your face with stuff that comes out of a jar, but not me." Jesse said to her. "In Arab countries, the girls get to cover their faces with veils," Dutch boy Winnie said. "They don't have to worry about what they look like, because nobody knows who they are." "Well, I don't think we're going to get to hide behind veils, and scarves." Jesse was in a shoulder length blond wig that did little to cloak her face. "And the only kind of masks we'll be wearing are face masks." "You don't 'hide' behind face masks," Tammy smiled. "You hide behind makeup." "Dad-" "No, Winnie," The tall man in the dark blue suit said gently, but firmly. "I'm going to see what kind of stuff a little kid can wear as a disguise," Winnie announced, heading out ahead of them. "Winnie!" "How can she stand to run in a dress?" Jesse asked self- consciously. "Why don't you go with her, Dad," Tammy suggested. "You can keep her busy while we... you know." "You know? Oh! Right: 'You know'," Dad shook a weary head. "Ask the clerk for a large bag, and be as quick as you can about it. I don't know how long I can keep Winnie interested in other things." +++ In the store, Their Dad ad had just gotten a clerk to give the oldest girls large brown paper bags, when he had to head off the youngest. She was carrying some costume makeup she must've gotten from the novelty toy section. "See!? It's right where they keep kids' stuff. That must mean its meant for kids!" "Do you really want to look like a vampire when it's not Halloween?" Dad asked, trying to be as patient as he could at the moment. "Sure! Vampires are boss. Girls aren't. When was the last time you heard of a girl biting one of them?" Tammy almost chuckled. "She doesn't know about vamps, yet." "Well, I do. That's why I'm not wearing any kind of makeup," Jesse said to her. "As long as I have to be stuck with this face, so is everybody else who has to see it." Tammy headed deeper into the store (Jesse found herself looking at how her stiff pink dress reminded her of a bell); she was looking at the signs over the aisle, "I wasn't suggesting you use makeup to look pretty. You should use foundation as a way to hide acne and blemishes." "Acne and blemishes? I never thought about those. I'm definitely not going to use foundation, then," Jesse followed reluctantly. "We've just gone through some massive hormonal ("Hormones!") changes; there've got to be imbalances. Our skins, for one, are going to break out. Then, there are... other effects." "What other effects?" Jess's frown deepened, not liking the answers already; not when it involved hormones-Female hormones, no doubt. "Haven't you noticed..." And Tammy looked around. There were a couple of clerks behind the glass counter, one chatting as she rang up a customer's purchases, the other filling out some form; and another was near the far end of the isle, restocking the shelves. There were very few customers around. Tammy lowered her voice anyway. "...your groin?" "Groin?" Jesse tried to remember where she'd heard that word. "Your crotch; between your legs." "Why didn't you just say it! After the parts that stick out, it's the part that doesn't that most won't let me forget." She was reminded; again, she was wearing panties and a dress. "Don't I know it." "Do you?" Jesse was tempted to scorn. "Why do you think I've been walking this way?" Jesse looked at how Tammy, not her dress, was moving. "You're walking like John Wayne. Do you chafe?" "Yes." "But you're wearing a dress." One stupider than mine. "My legs aren't what's chafing," Tammy told her, turning into the 'Feminine Hygiene' aisle. "How can you chafe?! If anything, I think I might get a rash." "We each react differently to... hormones." "Differently?" Jesse thought about it for a moment. "You mean!?! But you're the one who wants to be a girl!" "I don't "want" to be a girl," Tammy said, looking at what was on the shelves. "But I am a girl. I'm like thousands-millions of others, now, who'd rather not be a girl (or a boy, I suppose). That means my problem isn't special, and I have to get on with being as normal as I can." "And if you can't be normal?" Jesse asked, and almost included himself within that question. She picked up the largest, most obvious purchase she would have to make, "I won't know until I strive to be as normal as I can. "'You won't know if you could've won unless you put your best effort in it,' my coach said. In the meantime, whether or not we think this should be 'norm', this is reality!" Tammy said holding up the large package. "'Sanitary napkins'?" Jesse read. "It's for periods." Tammy said, shoving the package into, and filling a large part of her large brown paper bag. "'Periods'? I've heard of them. Of course." "Well, you're going to do more than just hear about them." Jesse was looking at the packages on the shelf. "What exactly is a period? And what are these 'napkins' for?" "What do you think napkins are for? To clean up a mess." "They're messy!?!" "You know how you have to be excused from the classroom? But, sometimes you wait too long?" "The last time 'I', or anybody else I know, had that kind of an accident was in lower elementary." Jesse was reminded, now, too, that not going as a girl was way different than as a boy. "Well, there was a girl in my class who ran out of class without asking. There was a stain on her dress, and I heard some of the girls tell each other what had happened. The boys weren't supposed to be listening, though. But they had plenty of chances, when word went around the school." "That makes periods sound worse than having to go to the restroom!" "You can learn to wait for just about anything else but periods." "Talk about reality. Like gravity." "What's worse is you want to 'fall'. It's when you don't bleed that you know you're hurt." "There's blood involved? When you were talking about going to the restroom, I thought that, uh..." "There's really not that much blood. I think." Tammy thought about it. "Enough to make a stain!" "Look, girls do it every month-" "Every month!?" "Don't tell me you didn't know that?" "I knew about periods, not bleeding! It's not like there's any sex ed or anything! It's only the good or the bad parts! Why didn't they tell us this in Sunday school!?!" "There are books out there." "None that we read!" "I have a couple," Tammy at last admitted. "You do?! You do like to study girls!" at the moment, that was as near as a compliment that Jesse had given her older sib that day. "As I was saying, girls bleed every month, so there cannot be that much blood." "Oh, yeah? Maybe that's why girls are weaker!" Suddenly, Jesse looked at the shelves, and started dropping things into her bag. "What are you doing?" "There's got to be so