"What's that?" she heard her mother's horrified voice snap. "Surely, Sandra, you can't intend to pack a thing like that! Where on earth did you get it, anyway?" With the tips of her fingers, she picked up a semi-sheer white cotton nightie, looking at it as if its very presence in her house were enough to call down the wrath of God. "What's the matter with that nice pink flannel nightie Aunt Mildred gave you last Christmas? I'm ashamed of you for wasting good money on something like this." She dangled the offending feminine-looking garment in front of her embarrassed daughter's downcast eyes.
"V-Verne gave me money to buy some th-things," Sandi had stammered apologetically. "And then I had the m-money I made babysitting."
"Humph!" the elderly woman sniffed. "Well, if Mr. Smith wants to waste his money on frivolities, that's his business. But I thought you were brought up better than to buy a sinful piece of goods like this, Sandra!"
"But Mother, there's nothing really wrong with this nightie!" Sandi had summoned up the courage to protest.
"There certainly is! Why, you can see your naked body straight through it!"
As there seemed no appropriate rejoinder to this, the young blonde laid the nightdress aside without comment. Later that night, she slipped it into her suitcase, balling it up underneath some inoffensive cotton panties just in case her mother should feel like snooping tomorrow morning.
Now, as the memories faded, an ironic little smile appeared on the blonde wife's face. "What would Mother think of this?" she murmured, wrinkling her nose at the lewdly daring apricot nightdress she was now wearing. But although she was trying to laugh it off, the foundation of guilt was too solid to be easily dissolved, and with trembling fingers, Sandi Smith drew the flagrantly wanton lace nightie up over her lushly ripened body.