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Primsy turvy

April 19, 2012

Jenny is a modest soul. From an early age she wanted to be feminine and wear lovely things, and she wanted to be prim and proper about her dresses and skirts. Panties were private and should not be seen. Ladies don’t show their panties.

At around seven years of age when her inner tomboy began to emerge, she struggled to balance it with her prim modesty and love of girly things. She compromised by wearing blue jean skirts and funky tops. She always looked adorable until she entered her I-am-wearing-only-black period.

Climbing trees with her brother and the neighbor boy while wearing her blue jean skirt presented new challenges that Jenny seemed to have met, until the day that the tree whose trunk she deemed herself worthy of conquering threw her a curve ball, or curve branch, or something.

She was Lady of the tree! Balanced precariously above the leafy floor of the woods behind the house, she showed Joe-your-dad and his friend that skirt or no skirt, she was just as good in the wild as they were. And she was, until she slipped. She almost fell. The hem of her blue jean skirt caught on a strong, stumpy branch-like appendage of the tree and held her fast above the floor of the wood, above the place of cracked heads and bruised egos. But it didn’t spare her ego.

Jenny hung upside-down about eight feet in the air. Aiding her modesty was the stumpy tree appendage that held her blue jean skirt tightly to her thighs. Her hands held her funky shirt in place so nothing else would be exposed during the terribly embarrassing predicament in which she found herself.

The boys tried to free her, but they were too short and she was too heavy for them. Joe ran for help, bringing me to the place of Jenny’s great humiliation.

I could see the problem immediately. Jenny might have been able to free herself if she had swung up on the stumpy tree appendage and reached for a higher branch—but that would have left her funky shirt in a position roughly around her neck, exposing everything that a seven-year-old girl had to expose beneath her tee shirt that is not yet a brassiere. Unthinkable. Better to crack one’s skull.

I hauled Jenny down from the tree with her dignity and her covered chest intact, her panties unexposed. It was imperative because Jenny, after all, was a Lady.

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