Eight girls, sitting on sofas, reclining against pillows, lying on the floor... ... all dressed in white, diaphanous, flowing nylon and lace nightgown...."What's going on here, girls?" I repeated, concerned."What's the matter, Mr. Michaels?" asked Janice, one of my best students. She got up and walked towards me, her nightgown gently clinging to her bosoms and outlining her slender legs. "Don't you think we're beautiful?" That's not the question," I responded in my best authoritative teacher. My son in law adjourned to a bed room to catch up on sleep, also his norm after a large meal. I preferred the mindless hum of the TV over the idle gossip of small town women, so moved to one of the two arm chairs in the rear of the house where the matriarch holds court over the few shows she watches when no one else is around. The oldest and youngest grand daughters shared one chair, and as had been in the past Brandy shared mine, it was a routine that had held true for years, except this time. More

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