What's Under There?

   After our first dance, J.W. and I began to spend each afternoon together.  You see, I was a twirler. I would practice in the afternoons outside of the buildings where he studied, and at times it seemed that we sat and talked more than I practiced. It wasn't long before we were together more than not.  Once he finally decided to take me to his parents' home, I had the chance to get to know everyone.

On game night, I would bring my stuff with me and dress at his parents' home.  This was far more reasonable than driving the 30miles to my parents' home and back again.  But this is all background mumbo jumbo.  Let me tell you about my dress, or uniform.  

It was a short little white number with kelly green accents.  Twirlers don't often wear much in the way of skirts, for they would become a tangled mess.  And more often than not, they fit tightly for the same reason.  After all, if you get a baton tangled in your clothes, you risk a bad show and knocking yourself silly.   

After one game, in the cool fall, we decided to stop for a soda at the local Taylor's.  Being the gentleman he was, and that my outfit didn't offer much protection from the weather; J.W. lent me his jacket (which was longer than my skirt).  Well being the small town that it is, we met his brother and sister-in-law on their way out.  Well, his brother anyway (the sister-in-law had stayed in the pick-up).

After he went on out, he returned a moment later for one last question.  You see, she (being his sister-in-law) had noticed that not much more than my hose and shoes showed below the hem of the jacket I was borrowing.  And she wanted to know..........

"Is she wearing any clothes?"

In the beginning.....

       Let me tell you a little about how I became Mom Deb.  I'll start at the beginning for you.
     College came after the end of a break-up.  After the first week or two of classes the school held a dance.  Being post-breakup, I was up for something new and a little fun.  I called up a class mate and asked if she would car-pool with me for the evening.  Decided the dance was worth the new dress I had had made, curled my hair, tossed on a leather jacket, and headed to pickup my car-pool buddy.  We arrived on time (early).  
      Now, before I go on; my mother had already told me that I could not go to school and marry the first guy I met.
     The only other person to show up on time (early) was J.W.; so we sat there talking, the three of us.  I very quickly learned that he was quite full of poo.  While I don't drink, my car-pool buddy was wanting to buy beer, and asked if he knew who would buy for her.  J.W.'s response was that he could.  She asked how old he was, to which he replied, "23."  (J.W. had not yet turned 20, let alone 23.)
       About an hour later, others began to arrive.  I quickly learned that I was overdressed.  However, I still danced most of the night away with J.W.  It was my first dance, and I enjoyed being pushed around the floor by him.  We fit good together.
      After the dance, I went home and checked in with my parents.  Mom asked if I had a good time and if I met anyone.  I told her yes, J.W. Mc....Mc.....Mc.  Mom said, "Your not talking about Denia's baby brother are you?"  Well, yes it was.  (Mom went to church with Denia when we were young.)  She knew the family and what kind of cut up J.W. was likely to be.