deep, pretty waves; my bust protruded just like a girl's and I thought I looked very feminine with my brown wavy hair, brown eyes, red lips and girlish figure. I couldn't help myself-I started to cry-with joy, this time, however. Sis dried my eyes and repaired the mascara I had ruined with tears. She looked at me a long time and then asked if I liked what I saw. I replied, "Yes, Sis, I do, and thank you for the happiest moment of my life.” Then we both sat down on the edge of the bed and cried. I was happy; and although she had two brothers, I didn't know until that afternoon that she wanted-very badly—a sister. I vowed that I would try to be one to her. That afternoon remained until this writing "our secret". I was cleaned up and a boy again before our Grandparents returned from town. If some mad scientist had advertised for volunteers for a sex change, I believe I would have been first in line. Not so now, but at that time, I wanted so desperately to be a girl.

About the only thing that would keep G-ma from going to Church was a road blocked by deep snowdrifts. And it was around this devout- ness of hers that my plan for getting even developed. I told Sis my plan and she agreed to help me all she could.

I hadn't had any bad arguments with G-ma that summer, so one day I deliberately picked one and kept it up until she hit me on the head with a large spoon. I cried and carried on until she marched me upstairs. again. Sis was there and she told her that I had to dress in girl's clothes again until I got over being such a sissy. Sis winked at me and said she didn't want to see her sissy brother in a dress and went downstairs. G-ma threw a dress at me. I put it on, then she grabbed me and took me downstairs to show my sister what a sissified boy I was. I was putting on an act of hating every minutes of it—and I think G-ma enjoyed my 'embarrassment'. Sis joined in the ridicule, but I knew she didn't mean it. I changed clothes again before supper.

That summer, too, came to a close, and the last Sunday before school started was to be my "D-Day” of revenge. The closer the day came, the more mixed up I became. I was thrilled and excited at the thought of dressing for myself, yet I was afraid of what my Grandparents would do or say when they saw me. I almost chickened out, but Sis reassured me she would help and would back me up. My hair had grown a little longer, and Sis said she could do a much better job than before when she marcelled it.

We arose early that Sunday morning. I hurried through my chores and barely touched my breakfast. I was too excited and in a hurry to get dressed for church. I'll never forget the outfit Sis selected for me. It was

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