Sunday, January 22, 2012

Now? I have a dreadful cold. Tank the Lord for Aussie Tennis !

Mustn't forget American Fooball games either.  My team's gone - but the games can be quite good.  I'm still a bit of a tennis nut.  How many of you can say they saw Don Budge, Pancho Segura, Pancho Gonzalez and Jack Kramer?  I did.  Saw them in Glasgow about 1950 (I think that was the year).  However, on with the show.  First of all - my serial - then a few bits from Rosie (Bless her!)

Serial  - Career Paths May be Slippery When Wet - Part 3

But what I was saying gradually faded, and my hand dropped to my side.  She was looking up at me from the couch with her eyes wide open and her mouth forming a perfect "O".   But not of surprise!  Of delight!
"Oh Priscilla!  You are wonderful!  That is just a marvelous performance!  Oooh!  Say that bit again about me thinking I'm just so clever, would you? And that bit about you being a MAN?  You look so cute in that pretty dress even though it's far too big for you."  Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Now?  What are you going to say when I tell you that because you were naughty, I'm going to make you wear these"  She held up a pair of satin, pink panties (I realized why she'd left the room while I was in the corner) then spank you while you're wearing  them?  Going to fight me?"

I was terrified by her complacent assurance.  My anger was dissipating rapidly, but I tried to boost myself again.
"Damn right!"
"Priscilla!  Apologize immediately!  That language is most unladylike.  Say that you're sorry – NOW!"
She had got up from the couch and was advancing on me, her face set in what appeared to be anger.
"Well, I'm sorry for using language like that.  But I meant it" I added weakly.

And she laughed out loud with glee! Pointed her finger at me.  "See what I mean Priscilla? My little  Priscilly-Billie?   I tell you to apologize for not being ladylike?  And you DO!  Now lets get those silly underpants off and get your panties on.  You're really going to like them.  Lovely and soft.  Satiny.  C'mon now.  Be a good girl for Rene."

Panting with fright, I backed away from her and held my hands up defensively.  She stopped, delight written all over her face. "Oh Priscilla!  You're not going to fight me, are you? Wait a minute, would you?  How lovely!"
And she stopped and ran both her hands up and down over her crotch, slowly and sensuously, looking dreamily at me and licking her lips until they shone wetly.  Then she sighed happily and advanced again, continuing to lick her lips until I grappled with her.

As we struggled together I was immediately aware that my resistance was futile. The chiffon enveloping my arms just emphasized their soft, feminine, weakness – and my whimpered little protests as I was forced to the floor under Rene's  assault demonstrated her easy victory.  I started to weep softly in humiliation as she got up, then offered me a hand to help me up in turn.
"Please don't spank me Rene?" I wept .  "I'll do anything."
"Of course you will, sweet thing. But I'm sorry.  You've got me all sexed up now. Rene's got to get her fun too you know!"

And gently, but implacably, I found myself being led back to the sofa and, after she sat down, being taken over her knees.  "Atsa girl! " she said happily.  "Get those ugly undies off – there!"  And my jockeys were gone from my legs in one uninterrupted motion.  Then, my panties were put on me.  It felt strange, feeling the elastic waist band – and the leg closures being elasticized felt even more unfamiliar.  Then she pulled my skirts up, well out of the way, baring my backside for the spanking she was going to give me.

"You made me SO happy Priscilla.  Promise me you'll fight me some other times when I want to spank you.  Promise?" She was panting excitedly above me now.
"Yesssss." I wept.
"Good girl!  Not all the time, mind you – sometimes you'll just get me mad if you argue or don't do as I tell you.  But now and then?  Promise?"
"I said yes!" I protested, and got a sharp smack on my panties.
"Don't be cheeky now!" she scolded me happily.
"Ohhh!" I squealed.

Then she proceeded to spank me thoroughly. I wept and pleaded, and writhed around, but she held me down easily, until I lay there unresisting, weeping copious tears as she thrashed me.

What made it worse was her squirming underneath me, making delighted little squeals and moans as she administered the spanking. At one time, she actually  rolled me over onto my back.  I thought the spanking was over, but it was only to get my weight off her skirt, so that she could hoist it up, so that my erection was rubbing against the material of her slip, when she rolled me back into spanking position again.

Finally, she finished spanking me. Before I could compose myself, she had pulled out from under me, rolled me over on my back,  pushed my dress up away above my waist, and pulled my panties down to around my knees, mounted me and was riding me enthusiastically, crowing exultantly as she pumped up and down. We both came quickly in a simultaneous rush.  She literally fell off me with a satisfied "WHOOSH!"

I lay there, physically and emotionally drained.  Wanted nothing but sleep.  Sleep was the furthest thing on her mind.
"Oh Priscilla?  You were marvelous!  Hurry up now.  Get your shoes and socks on."
"Shoes and socks?  What for?"
"Back to Elaine's.  Get you a dress that fits you." She stood above me, and patted me tenderly on the cheek. "That was the best – the very best sex I've ever had. But we made a bet. Remember?"

I couldn't help it. Grinned happily up at her. "Okay.  But let me wash my face first.  But I think I'll need more than socks and shoes, don't you think?"
"No dear. I don't want you washing your face. And it might look a little odd wearing socks and shoes with your dress, but that's how you're going."
My grin faded. "You're kidding.  Surely you don't expect me to go to the mall dressed like this. Looking in such a mess?"

She leaned over me again.  Gave me a tender kiss. "Darling?  You are going to wear that dress back to Elaine's.  I don't want to appear unreasonable, but I did warn you. Remember?  Are you going to try and tell me that you didn't deliberately pick a dress that was far too big for you.  Think Rene's stupid?"

"Well I didn't want one that was too small," I argued weakly and weepily.
"Dear.  You should learn to accept advice from your betters – women that is.  I warned you.  Sandra tried to tell you – but you didn't listen, did you – you great big headstrong male!  Now you have to pay the price.  Let's go!"

I saw the truth in her eyes. Knew that I had no options. "Please?  At least let me wash my face?  Comb my hair?"
She cocked her head to one side. Thought for a second or two.  "Okay.  But a little lipstick and blusher too.  No such thing as a free lunch, honey bunch!"

I blanched, but the idea of having to go to the mall in a dress was bad enough. To go with my face and eyes all puffy from weeping, and her lipstick smeared all over my face  was something else.
 "Okay" I capitulated. "But not too much.  Please?"
She beamed. "I don't like my girls to wear too much makeup, silly.  Just you wait and see.  You'll think you look much better."

I was ashamed when we left.  I have a fairly full head of hair.  At her suggestion, I allowed her to wet it lightly with mousse and style it a little.  Hold it in place with a few strategically placed barrettes. Then she allowed me to wear a pair of brown open sandals and go bare legged.  I don't want to give the impression that I looked anything like a girl.  Maybe someone with weak eyesight could make a mistake from twenty yards, but I felt that maybe from the back, I wouldn't be so unmistakably a man in a woman's dress.

I was given a small handbag to hold my lipstick and blusher kit with the dainty brush.  She also put some money in it.  At my unasked question, she simply said.  "You never know.  You might need it?  What would you do if we got separated, walk home?" 
I shuddered at the thought, and she laughed lightly. "I was only teasing you dear. Rene won't run off and leave her little Priscilla today.  Promise!"

I found the reason for the money once we reached the mall.  I truly was astounded at the lack of reaction from the other shoppers. Yes, some saw me for what I was, the majority passed me by as if I was just a woman, walking arm in arm with another.  She steered me into a drugstore first. "Have to get you used to this dear," she said. "You need stockings and makeup. Want me to help you?"
I spent some of my money for foundation, mascara, eyeshadow and face cream, along with a small compact with face powder and an applicator.  A few young girls who were shopping around looked curiously at me and giggled, especially when I bought some sheer nylons.

Then I had the 'opportunity' – strongly recommended – to go and buy some undies. A matching set in pale pink. Panties, bra (a 34 c), garter belt, and camisole. (You want to make sure your dress fits you this time, do you not?" Rene whispered and I know that Elaine has breast forms on sale.  Saw them this morning.) As this was eminently sensible, I agreed heartily – if not happily.

Then shoes. Blushing at the state of my toenails, I had to buy a pair of beige pumps with a one and a half inch heel.  The salesgirl seemed to find nothing wrong with providing a man with a pair of ladies shoes.  I was shocked at the price though – Rene paid with a credit card – so thought that the girl was probably working on commission.

Then, finally, back to Elaine's.  Sandra was with another customer as we entered, but passed her onto another salesgirl with an excuse and hurried over. Addressed me with a condescending grin.
"Wouldn't listen to me, would you?  Want to come with me  into the fitting room now and see how we can alter your dress to fit?"
"His name's Priscilla now," Rene told her. "She's got some undies this time – and will need some "C" forms."
"C?"  Sandra said, stepping back.  Might be a little big for his - -sorry, her, frame."
"But that's what she wants – right Priscilla?" Rene asked me sweetly.

Sandra saw the packages I was carrying. "You bought your undies somewhere else?  Elaine is going to be most displeased with you dear!"
"Rene made me buy them at that department store.  It wasn't my idea," I said lamely.
"Yes, it's not the poor dears fault. I wanted her to broaden her experience – enjoy other things.  She bought makeup as well, didn't you dear?"  Rene said.

She was smiling the whole time this conversation was going on, but her tone of voice was becoming increasingly mocking and domineering.  I wanted to object to being openly addressed as 'she' and 'Priscilla' but felt that I didn't want to chance a recurrence of what had happened back at the house.
"Yes Rene." I answered meekly.
"So you understand that this time, you're going to put on your new undies – and put breast forms in the bra before you get sized for your dress?" she said.
I blushed. "Yes Rene"  I said, then turned to Sandra. "Will you be able to make the alterations today?"
"Pretty sure we can't." she replied .  "Have a big back log."

I looked uncertainly at Rene. "But I'm supposed to wear it today Sandra. Could I maybe exchange it for another one?"
Sandra came close to me. Whispered softly in my ear.  "Did you have sex wearing this?"
Blushing, I nodded.
She shrugged  "Thought I could smell it. Well?  Would you like to buy a dress that another girl had worn for sex?"

Before I could answer, Rene spoke up. "That's all right Priscilla. You've been so good?  We'll get you measured so that this one can be altered, then try and get something else off the racks.  Okay?"
"That's even better!" Sandra said, not giving me a chance to reply. "Time to get to work honey." And pulled me into the fitting room.

The implication of what Rene had said struck me as we left her. She was buying me TWO dresses!  Today was not the only time she intended me to dress like a woman! But, unprotesting, I was taken to a small changing room. 

I took the dress off, then put all my new undies on – including the garter belt and stockings.  The bra felt very strange, and I had quite a job in adjusting the tiny buckles on the shoulder straps so that it was comfortable.  Sandra brought the forms and handed them to me over the door.  I inserted them into the bra cups, amazed at how bulky they were – and yet light in weight. 

My dress seemed to fit much better when I put it back on.  Then I put my new shoes on and, wobbling just a little, went back out to the fitting room where Sandra was waiting for me.  She gave me an approving nod and introduced me to a lady standing beside her, who turned out to be Stella, the fitter. 

Stella was all business.  "Over here, sir.  In front of those mirrors please."
She produced a tape measure and started measuring all sorts of things, inserting pins at various points.  With a mouth full of pins, she could still talk clearly. "Yes Sandra.  You were right.  Can't make those alterations today.  Sorry sir."
"But I really wanted them for tonight" I said suddenly frightened,  conscious of just what might transpire if Rene got the impression that this was another deliberate ploy on my part to delay paying my debt. "I wouldn't mind paying extra, if that was a help?" I added weakly.
Stella looked at me.  Sniffed audibly through her nose.
"Sir? I have no wish to cause offense but, whether you accept the idea or not?  You ARE a man.  You do not have the physical ratios of a woman.  You do not have breasts.  You have no hips worth speaking of.  Yes, we can fit forms into your bra, and we can pad your derriere so that in those two important areas you resemble a woman more.  In other important relationships, however, you do not – and to the best of my knowledge, no undergarment yet devised will give you the ratios of a woman.  Your dress does not simply require alterations SIR – it almost has to have the major seams ripped out and re-sewn.  This can NOT be done today.  I'm sorry."
"That's okay" I mumbled mortified at being lectured in such a fashion, then heard someone from beside me.  It was Rene.
"I heard that.  Makes sense.  Getting a dress to fit you might be more difficult than I thought dear. Maybe a skirt and blouse? Luckily I've brought some for you to try on."

As I tried on various mixes of skirts and blouses, it dawned on me that my opinion as to what to buy was worthless – it was going to be decided by a combination of Sandra and Rene, both of whom had decided – and not always agreeing – opinions. Rene also changed her mind about my shoes and went back to the store where I'd got the first ones and purchased another pair – much higher heel – and straps.

I finally stood there in a black, tight, very short,  skirt – and a white, almost completely transparent blouse – very full, with huge sleeves – my camisole and bra easily visible.  With my new high heels on, I towered over both women. I couldn't walk too well, but Rene didn't seem to mind.  She then did something that completely showed my subjugation to her.

I thought the black velvet choker she put around my neck was quite nice, but not wholly necessary.  I thought differently when she attached a velvet rope to it, and led me back out into the main store as if I were some kind of tame pet, talking affectionate baby talk to me all the while.  While  we waited for her credit card purchase to be processed, she 'requested' that I might want to refresh my makeup?  Under the amused expressions of the other customers, I used my compact mirror and applied my lipstick, blush, and powder.
Naturally, the lady who'd talked to me on my first visit, came back in to see if her dress had been fixed yet.  When she saw me, she smiled.
"Not one of those transvestites you say?  Could have fooled me, honeybunch!"

Where I'd felt practically invisible on the way into the store was entirely changed as we made our way back through the mall.  I guess you don't see many men on leashes being led through malls, wearing tight skirts and transparent blouses, staggering along on high heels, clutching a handbag tightly under one arm, waving the other about occasionally in an attempt to maintain his balance while being talked to by a much smaller woman,  as if he were her pet dog.  I finally burst into tears long before we got to the car, which resulted in many loud comments about me being such a cry baby from Rene – and threats that she'd give me something to cry about, if I didn't start behaving like a good girl!

When we got home, she led me on a very short lead into the living room.
"That was such fun!" She said loudly.  "Now turn away from me and bend over."
I did as she told me, her tone of voice was telling me that I'd better obey.
"Please don't hurt me Rene.  I was good." I pleaded.

But she didn't have hitting me on her mind.  All she did was to lift my skirt straight up and bunch it around my waist.  Then she came around at my back and, holding me around the waist, dry humped me, making all sorts of delighted little shrieks and rumblings, until she let go a loud yell and stopped.

Over the next few weeks, she just could not get enough of me.  I'd hear "Priscillaaa!  Where are Yoooo??" and I'd have to interrupt what ever I was doing to be spanked, laid in my back and mounted, or dry humped.  Other than that though, I was settling in to her house and routine – and found myself becoming very fond of her.  Then, I made my next mistake.  She wanted a passage from a book  keyed into her machine.  It was an old reference book with tiny print that wouldn't scan.  Not only that, she was in a hurry for it .  When I offered to do it, she was touched.
"My, how nice Billie (I got called by my name when she was really pleased with me – which wasn't that often) Are you sure you can do all that typing?"
"Sure.  Because I was going in for computer science, I figured I'd better get good keyboard skills" I told her.  Then I just HAD to boast. "Took shorthand as well you know. Would have made a great secretary."

Her eyes widened.  "What a great idea!  I make a lot of handwritten notes, and it's a major pain to transcribe them.  It would be great if I could just dictate them to you sometimes – then, if I had written them down at other times, you could enter them for me.  Wow!  That would be great!"

I got nervous at this,  "That was years ago Rene.  I've forgotten most everything.  Don't think I would be much use to you, to be honest.  Not now."
She pursed her lips. "Well, you know?  It might be a good idea to get you retrained after we're married?  I know the very girl – Candace, an old client of mine.  Think I'll give her a call later."

She hadn't mentioned marriage in quite a while, so I'd thought it had just been a passing fancy of hers.  This idea of mine turned out to be quite wrong when she brought the subject up one day.  Rene saw the expression on my face and read it correctly.  Pouted her lips. "Priscilla not want to marry her Rene?  I'm going to get you the prettiest white dress too!  You'll make such a pretty bride – I keep thinking about our wedding night – whooeee! "

And damned if she didn't buy me a white wedding dress over my tears and objections.  It wasn't going to be a big wedding she told me, just a ceremony at the registrar's, so it was just a plain white gown – with a small veil.  She drove the car to the registrar's office – then past it, and home again, laughing at the way she'd tricked me. 
"You know?" she said later.  "I never really thought you'd let me force you into being the bride, but you were, weren't you?  But now you've shown me that you can be the bride? How's about proving it to me?"
"What do you mean Rene?" I replied, but had a sneaking suspicion of what she meant.

"No. I'm going to keep that pleasure for our real wedding night.  Make an honest woman out of you!" she laughed. Then she continued "But darling, how could you possibly have believed that I was going to marry you today?"
"You sold me on the idea pretty convincingly", I answered "I mean, that dress and all."
"Well I saw it on sale – and I thought it would be a great joke.  But I mean darling, I haven't changed your name yet.  That's something I've told you LOTS of times that I want to have done."
"I thought you were only joking."  I said.
"Silly Priscillie Billie" she cooed. "I only play one joke at a time!  After we marry, I want you to be Priscilla Marchant.  Mr. Rene  Priscilla Marchant to be precise." She dug me in the side with her elbow. "Though you and I both know who the real Mrs. is going to be, don't we darling?"  Then she giggled as I blushed.

A few weeks later, we made it official, exactly as she had described.  The lady registrar looked puzzled by the names and got confused with who was who, but it was finally over – and I was ready to become Rene's wife – in every sense.  It was a very small wedding. we even had to ask a bystander in to witness as apart from Rene and myself, the only other member of the wedding party was Nancy, Rene's daughter.

As I indicated before?  I was instantly and totally smitten with this girl.  Young, with innocent blue eyes smiling gently out of a perfectly oval face, over the prettiest nose that ever graced a modern girl – and lips – those succulent lips!  And she was SO respectful too!  Called me "sir' until I begged her to call me Bill – which I think she must have misheard, because she agreed but started calling me Billie, just like her mother.  I have always hated being addressed by this name, but from her?  Wonderful!

She took us out to a restaurant – her treat, but ate practically nothing herself. Turned out that she was majoring in Modern Dance at college – which probably explained her graceful carriage and her svelte figure.  Oh god!  I was in LOVE!

At the same time, I was very, very nervous. The only real articles of men's clothing I was wearing were my dark blazer and a rep tie.  My pants were actually of gray jersey wool, with a back zipper. And my shirt was a white satin blouse with full chiffon sleeves and satin cuffs. I wore navy blue satin undies – bra, camisole, panties, and garter belt.  Dark, smoky, seamed nylons, and one and a half inch heeled slip on shoes (Women's of course).  At Rene's instigation, I was also wearing makeup – just traces mind you, but lipstick and all the other trimmings – with a touch of Rene's favorite Lancome perfume.

Despite all of this?  Nancy seemed to not see or smell anything out of the ordinary. ( I thought she must have a cold, because both the registrar and our waitress seemed to notice it).  She won my heart completely.  For the first time in what seemed like forever, I was being treated with all the respect and deference that a man should expect.  Once, she actually put her warm hand on my thigh – right on top of one of my stocking suspender straps.  I was sure she had to feel it through the fine material, but she made no sign, so I breathed a huge sigh of relief when she removed her hand.

End of part 3



I know my mother in law meant well but enough is enough. The outfit she bought me was really not my style. Come on – when did she last see me wear such a frilly blouse? And the diaphanous sleeves? I mean, it is nice, but not really me. A corset-like black top went over it, and she also bought me a matching white, knee length frilly skirt, some white shoes (five inch heels, of course) and even a hat! With a veil.
I should probably stand up for myself and tell her to stop buying me clothes, but I keep putting that off. I don't want to insult her, so I'm wearing the blue dress she bought me some time ago. Even a light petticoat underneath it.
“Hello, Angela,” I say as she opens the door and we kiss. Her kisses are somewhat heavier than required by manners. Screw required, allowed. She even uses her tongue sometimes. But she’s such a nice woman otherwise. And strong, too, on the other hand. Once she has you in her grip, she doesn’t let you go until she has her way with you.
“Hello, Sylvie,” she says, “I thought you’d be wearing the cute little set I’ve bought you.”
“Sorry, but it wasn’t really me, if you know what I mean,” I apologize, “It’s not gone to waste, though,” I add.
“I’m sure it hasn’t,” she replies, “But really, it was meant as a present for you. If I wanted my son to wear it, I’d given it to him myself.”
Shrugging, I step aside to let my husband get inside as well. I feel a little guilty for having made him wear the ‘cute little outfit’, but as he disappears and emerges from his mother embrace, I feel a little pang of jealousy that he might look better in it than I would.
I walk in and notice Julie, my husband’s brother’s wife, in the hall. She’s wearing a red knee length pencil skirt with a matching, quite heavily, tailored jacket and a crispy white silk blouse with a frilled collar. A present from our mother in law, no doubt. She sits down next to Stevie, her husband. Stevie’s dressed in a ridiculous looking pink outfit – a tight short skirt and something between a jacket and a blouse. Tailored like the one his wife is wearing and with masses of frills everywhere. And let’s not forget the mandatory hat.
“Hi,” I greet Julie, “Let me guess – you felt guilty for making Stevie put on what she bought you this year, so you put on her present from five years ago.”
“Yeah,” Julie laughed.
“Well,” Angela says as she ushers us inside her living room, “Looks like that by trying to find you two ladies a decent present, I’ve managed to clothe my sons once more.”
There’s a moment of dead silence as she watches sternly over her guests, then her mouth breaks out in a smile.
“Come here, boys,” she says to her sons, “Let’s go get your real presents.”
“You think she’s doing this on purpose?” Julie asks me, as we watch our husbands dither on their stilettos each on his own side of their imposing mother.
And maybe you can let me in on what your wives might actually like this time,” she says and puts her arms around them.


The moment I saw my mother’s car parked on the street I knew I should expect another of her intrusions in my life. I just didn’t know exactly what until my husband opened the door.
“Oh, God,” I said as I saw him, “She’s really done it this time.”
He didn’t say anything, just looked down and let me in. I took another look at him. He was wearing a pink frilly dress, with petticoats under its knee length skirt, diaphanous billowing sleeves, lace around the tight bodice and a scooped neckline that displayed his new breasts. He was wearing shiny nylons with white flowers on a pink background and pink stilettos, probably with five inch heels. But the real thing was all on his head. His face was immaculately made up, his eyes delicately outlined, his lips painted to a luscious red and his eyebrows were all but gone. And his hair! Now it was champagne blonde, permed into a mass of curls that framed his pretty face.
“Just go and change,” I said to him as he offered to take my purse.
“What about the hair?” he asked.
“Leave it as it is, I guess,” I shrugged, “And you don’t need to wash your face, either. Least not for the time being.”
As he dithered upstairs to do what I told him, I almost felt sorry for making him take off that dress. But, rules are rules.
“Mother,” I said rather loudly as I entered my house, “Mother how many times have I told you-“
“Hello, daughter dear,” she said, not getting off her couch, “Do you always come home so late?”
I had to pause for a moment to get a grip of myself.
“Why is my husband dressed as he is?” I asked calmly.
“Oh that,” she said, “I felt sorry for him, since he was so poor and lonely as you keep him locked up all the days-“
“I DON’T keep him locked up,” I said sternly.
“No need to yell, dear,” she said and continued, “Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Well, I thought I should cheer him up so I took him for a makeover. Looks rather good, doesn’t he?”
“He does, but that’s not the point. You have to stop interfering with my private life, mother,” I said.
“But it’s just an innocent makeover,” she said.
“Yes, that’s what I mean,” I replied, “I don’t suppose he told you anything, but I’ve disallowed such things.”
“Oh,” she said, looking surprised, “I didn’t know that. Whatever for, anyway?”
“He’s been letting his work slip too much,” I said calmly, “Look, I know you didn’t mean any harm, but you have to stay out of my marriage.”
“I’m sorry, dear,” she said.
“That’s alright. I don’t suppose he cooked anything today, did he?” I asked.
“Not that I know of,” she shrugged, “Don’t worry, I’m inviting you to dinner.”
“You’d better,” I said.
Just about then my husband returned to the living room. His glamorous hair and make-up looked almost grotesquely out of place with his plain grey maid’s uniform. After bobbing a small, but perfect curtsey, he stood still in front of me.
“Well, well, Josie, dear,” I said, “You know that exactly this kind of things got you in trouble in the first place?”
“Yes, mistress,” he replied quietly.
“Oh, come on, drop the mistress crap,” I said, “Flattery won’t get you anywhere. Anyway, what do you have to say for yourself today?”
He didn’t answer.
“I could slap another month on your sentence. Pity, since you’d be off in less then two days, right?” I watched him battle with tears for a while, “But I think I’ll let it slide this time. Anyway, it wasn’t all your fault.”
“Oh, thank you,” he said, breathing out air of relief.
“Yeah, yeah,” I waved my hand dismissingly, “Since you didn’t make anything for today, your mother in law is taking us out for dinner. Looks like you have to change again. I’d think that at least this would cause you some kind of inconvenience but knowing you, it’s really more of a reward, isn’t it?”
He smiled mischievously and looked away.
“Well, anyway, just don’t put on that dress you had on before, okay? Something less flamboyant, okay?” I said.
His face dimmed a little when I forbade him the dress, but he still looked happy. Suddenly, I got an evil little thought.
“Josie!” I called after him, “I was thinking, that pantsuit we bought for me last week? Maybe you should wear it tonight.”

1 comment:

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