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Or that she would not wear any other underwear. The dance was in a town nearly an hour away. When she left I emptied the shaker and refilled it with her powder alone. Five hours later she came home in tears, wrapped from the waist down in a plastic trash bag. Half-way through the dance she had started to leak, and went to change her protection when she found the girdle was firmly glued to her skin. Everywhere. So there was nothing she could do but borrow a super pad and tape it on the outside. This was bad enough. Then all the punch caught up with her. She tried to hold out, but when her boyfriend surprised her, she lost it right on the dance floor. Once Mom and Dad had her calmed down, and had dissolved the glue enough to cut and peel the girdle off, she claimed she would never be able to show her face in public again. It was a week before they got her to return to school, and the others gave her hell. I spent the week standing up. I'd never seen Mom get so mad. She. "What's the matter? Don't tell me, Peter?" You got it in one. He was waiting for me outside the school when I went to collect the boys this afternoon. I saw him as soon as I arrived, and I stayed in the car with the windows up, but he came over and started rapping on the window and shouting that he wanted to talk to me, that I was his wife, and I've got to talk to him. Everyone was staring, it was horrible." So what did you do?" I let the window down a little bit, and I told him that I wouldn't talk to him, that there was no point. That I'd made an offer to talk in a few weeks, but not before. But he kept going on and on. I felt trapped in the car. Then, by accident, I hit the horn button, right in the middle of one of his tirades about how I must listen to him, how I've got to remember all the good times and not throw them away like this. And the noise of the horn threw him, and made everyone stare even more, and he realised that and didn't like it. So, when he'd gone quiet, I told.
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