Good Grief! Whatever to do? The only wig I had wouldn't be in condition to do me any good for hours-two at the very least if I used every device known to science to dry it and then combed it out and ar- ranged it. That'd be far too late. I had to get to Millie's shop now if I were going to get my precious dress before some other greedy chic grabbed it up. Millie'd said she'd hold it but I couldn't blame her for letting it go if somebody else who wanted it was there with the cash. The dress was a darling! A lovely, soft yellow rayon thing (that looked so much like linen), two pretty, broad pleats in front and something like the cutest jabot you ever saw (scads of lace!) smack, dab down the middle of the bodice. I'd dreamed a million dreams of how I'd look in that dress and I had to have it. Now. Only how now?

Weakly I flopped into my easy chair across from the TV (also a name for an electronic device which sometimes entertains, you know). I flipped the switch (on the electronic device) and there was a picture and some sound but they were lost on me. What could I possibly do, I wondered. I had to have my dress!

Twenty minutes later panic had been replaced by mere desperation -better, perhaps, except for one thing. In my desperation I could think of only one solution. Just one lousy solution and, frankly, not an attrac- tive one. Actually, it sent cold chills up and down my fragile spine. Frankly, it was awful! It came to this, girls; I'd have to go out and get my dress dressed as a MAN!

I quailed at the horrible thought. I shrank in my chair as the full, chilling import of this unwanted, undesirable (and ordinarily unthink- able) aspect struck home! I know I became pale. I should have been because I felt faint! It was simply awful!

Finally I began to consider this insane idea sanely. I'd do it, I re- solved. That dreamy, darling dress was worth it! There are some things, of course, a woman must do, some sacrifices she must make! (Unfortunately, this seemed to be one of them.) As I drew upon hidden reserves of courage color came slowly to my cheeks. Forlornly I made my way to my bedroom of chintz. With quite unseeing eyes I selected an only mildly ruffled blouse and a pair of freshly pressed Capris from my closet.

Dressed (In masculine garments, relatively, that is) I started in- stinctively toward the full-length mirror-then stopped in sudden hor-

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