After that first shameful minute I saw my mother’s face shift from a resolute thoughtfulness into that stern look she usually reserved for my brothers. I knew I was finally in serious trouble, but nothing could have prepared me for the punishment I was about to receive.
She approached the bed where I had laid out all the clothing and rope I had collected over the years. I shifted myself nervously about to see what she was doing. She ran her eyes over the collection, and then gingerly picked up some old, white nylon tights. “So you like wearing these clothes, do you?” she asked. “Y…yes,” I squeaked out. “Fine, then let me help you. Open up,” she directed as she held them up to my face.