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I’ve been the director of the Rachel Macmillan Home for Wayward Girls for over thirty years now. Rachel Macmillan is deceased of course, having founded the home in 1952, under the auspices of the Greater Iowa Congress of the Apocalyptic Reclamation Society. Miss Macmillan, though never married, had a great love and fondness for children and young women in particular, who having fallen upon difficult times, had found themselves in an never ending downward spiral toward inevitable destitution and damnation. Miss Macmillan established the Home as a place where young ladies would find encouragement and be enabled to find themselves, get their lives back in order and follow a righteous and wholesome regime as responsible adults. In retrospect, the early problems with teenage pregnancies and drinking seem positively benign in the face of the increased prevalence of drug abuse and hardcore alcoholism that began to manifest among the young, in the late Sixties. Sadly these abuses, inherent rebellions and lawlessness against common decency and proper behaviors have not abated through the ensuing years.

None the less, The Rachel Macmillan Home has consistently operated as a healthy and supportive haven for distressed girls through all of these many years. I came on board in 1964, as an assistant to Miss Macmillan and assumed the Directorship in 1976, when Miss Macmillan chose to retire from daily operations and concentrate on refining both the curriculum and the ambiance of the overall Rachel Macmillan Home experience. We maintain a fully resident body of from fifteen to twenty girls and a staff of six, at any given time, for a one to four guidance ratio. As you can imagine, this gives the girls a great opportunity to receive the advantage of our continuous attention. The length of one of our girl’s period of internment is based on a combination of the severity of their situation and the availability of funding. Consequently in recent years, the majority of our girls have come to us from either wealthy families or through state or federally mandated and funded assignments.

Generally our girls, with proper family financial resources are able to stay at Macmillan Home, for as long as is necessary to effect a full behavioral modification and repatriation with society and we have been blessed with a one hundred percent successful integration rate, with no observed relapse. The poor Dears that come to us through jurisdiction of the courts are placed in our special, accelerated program, so that we may achieve an optimum result, well in advance of their date of scheduled release.

The addicted girls do not attend the Macmillan Home until they have undergone and completed a full intervention and are given a physically “clean” certification. Our role is simply to provide positive reinforcement in acceptable behavior. For the most part, all these girls really need, is just some good old-fashioned guidance and discipline.

At this moment, I am at my desk, reading an unusually thick file on our newest guest… a twenty-one year old, Anglo-Saxon female… one Lohan L, reprimanded to us by the Third District Court of Los Angeles County, in California. This young Lohan woman has come to us with a rather extensive addendum of previous and apparently unsuccessful attempts at intervention and rehabilitation for numerous drug and alcohol offenses and lewd and licentious public behaviors. There is a volume of photographs of her in this file. Several appear to be professionally taken at different ages and she appears quite wholesome and attractive. Others, taken more recently, show her in a variety of compromised and sordid positions and circumstance that depict, to the experienced eye, a rich, spoiled young tart, on the verge of total self-destruction. Her parents, divorced, are self-absorbed, self-indulgent, wealthy, philanders and social parasites and subsequently, she has spent most of her life, devoid of virtuous role models or caring adult supervision. Starting from an early age, Miss Lohan has been involved in the entertainment business… motion pictures and such… for the majority of her life. It’s a sad and typical tale… such a pity. So many of these young girls get caught up in that Hollywood facade of manufactured glamour, accompanied by excessively disproportionate paychecks and too much free time, with a complete lack of supervision… and the inevitable fantasy belief of special entitlement, manifest in an utter dislocation from all worldly realities. I see that she has participated in some films by the Disney Organization. Tsk, tsk… whatever has happened to her? That nice Annette was in many Disney productions and was always such a nice girl.

Well, the courts in California have apparently concluded that this L. Lohan has insulted their numerous efforts to provide meaningful and merciful psychological counseling, ignored their many admonishments to cease in her currant lawless behavior and desist from her callous displays of extreme malice toward the general citizenry, to the extent that she had been sentenced to a four to six month, full incarceration within a state corrections facility. Through some last minute legal maneuvering arraigned by her counsel, this Lohan woman has managed a plea bargain, whereas rather then enter the California Prison System, she would voluntarily enroll with the Rachel Macmillan Home for a period of not less then nine months and not more than eighteen. Although her commitment to the Macmillan Home is for a duration of nearly three times the length of time she would be required to spend in a state lockdown, we do provide a sensitive, yet structured regime, proven to restore a young woman’s dignity through example and practice. We are a truly caring and nurturing institution. The actual length of her stay with us will be dependent upon monthly reviews by the California Parole Board. Failure to fully comply with the rules and regulations of Macmillan Home shall be cause for expulsion, with the remainder of her sentence to be completed behind bars. Sentence… such a harsh and needlessly negative word. We should choose to consider her time with us as an opportunity for her to regain her humanity and develop a place of peace and tranquility within her tortured soul. The unfortunate necessity and reality of tuition, of course, is to be provided through an escrow account, established and administered by the courts and funded by her still rather significant financial endowments… while failure to successfully complete our curriculum will trigger forfeiture of those allotted funds.

Well, enough of that. I’m sure we’ll have some initial adjustments, but I’m confident that once Miss Lohan becomes immersed in the routine of a quiet life here at the Macmillan Home, we’ll turn this young lady around and she will graduate with honors. Ah… the intercom. No doubt she is arrived.

“The Lohan party to see you.”

“The Lohan party? She was to leave any and all escort at the main gate. Very well… Thank you, Alice. Please show them in.”

She is horribly dressed. They all are. I am faced by three equally, scandalous, provocatively dressed young ladies. They are nearly indistinguishable… three thin vixens, wearing too much makeup with extremely long, bleached blonde hair showing lengthy dark roots. I must look again at the photographs in the file to assure myself that the young woman in the center is actually Miss Lohan. She is chewing gum and smacking her lips in a most annoying manner. I gesture toward the lone chair before my desk.

“Please be seated Miss Lohan. Your friends will have to leave now. This is a private institution and guests may only enter with proper identification and only within the visiting area at prescribed periods.”

“They’re my homies. They come along to see if it’s phatt.”

“Nothing is fat here, Miss Lohan. Your friends shall leave immediately. If they do not leave now, you are in breach of your agreement, I will summon the authorities and you may be returned directly to California and proceed with your incarceration

“Aw… come on…”


With that, I reach again for the phone, pretend to dial Alice and ask her to call the Iowa State Police. The Lohan girl looks shocked. The three of them hem and haul and snivel and giggle and hug each other and promise to write and call and visit for a good ten minutes. I remain standing, stoic and unflinching through all of it. I can see this young woman will require a strong dose of no nonsense, tough love. Finally, they separate, the two accomplices depart and Miss Lohan sits down in the lone, straight-backed wooden chair. Well… slouched would be a more apt description. I re-cradle the telephone.

“Please sit up straight, Miss Lohan.”

“Aw… Come on…”

“Miss Lohan. You will sit up straight in that chair, with both of your feet flat to the floor before you. Remove the gum from your mouth, put your knees together and put your hands together on your lap and listen to me.”

She isn’t particularly responsive at first. I hand her a yellow stickie so that she may wrap her gum in it and keep my hand out, palm up to receive it. She chews some more, before removing the gum, making a great show of wrapping it neatly and finally returns it to me. I throw it in the basket and remain standing until she sits down again, squirming around in the chair before straightening more or less, into the demure ladylike, seated position I have asked her to assume.

“Miss Lohan. Any personal belongings you may have brought with you shall be documented and stored for the duration of your stay. That includes your purse and all of its contents. You will receive an itemized receipt. Everything you need at the Rachel Macmillan Home will be provided to you.”

“Wait a minute! I have stuff in my bag… I need… my cell. And my luggage… I got five bags of stuff out there with your friggin’ secretary. I need that stuff… this ain’t supposed to be no friggin’ prison.”

“That is correct, Miss Lohan. You are not in a prison. You are enrolled in the Rachel Macmillan Home for Wayward Girls. This is your now legally binding, residence of choice and during your term with us, you are obliged to abide by the rules and procedures of the Rachel Macmillan Home or suffer consequences. And I shall point out at this time, that we shall not tolerate any off color language.”

“Yeah… right.”

“Yes indeed, that is very right. Now shall we proceed?”

I explain to Miss Lohan that as a part of her induction, she will first visit our nurse’s station for a complete examination and then proceed to the girls showers and be deloused if necessary. Following a good cleansing, she will be escorted to the dispensary and issued clothing, toiletries and other necessities to personal hygiene. Once she is dressed, she will be accompanied to our salon, where her appearance will be tidied up and made presentable and appropriate to a young woman seeking inner peace.

For the most part, she simply sits there, relatively unfazed, either making strange faces, as mocking reaction to my comments or acting very bored and playing with her long finger nails. Generally, our girls dress in a simple, conservative plaid skirt or jumper and white blouse uniform, buttoned up with a neat cross tab tie under their collar… not unlike that of a girls parochial school uniform. The hair is kept off their shoulders, cut into either a bowl or page style and of course, no makeup is permitted. It is immediately apparent from Miss Lohan’s file, that she has assumed a variety of costumes and appearances in portrayal of character, in both her professional performances and in her flamboyant compulsion to shock and flaunt her hedonism before the public. It occurs to me that she will find none of our dress requirements, sufficiently empowering towards developing a more mature and responsible attitude. She will likely treat our dress code as yet another exercise in character and simply role-play. Clearly, Miss Lohan requires a more stringent and undeniable affirmation of maturity. Once she has completed her medical examination and we have her measurements, I’ll ask Alice to drive down to the K-Mart and purchase a patently mature wardrobe for her.

Several times, during my commentary on life here at the Rachel Macmillan Home and our expectations for our interns… I have had to admonish her and remind her to sit up straight. It seems so many of these new girls must put on such a bravura show of abject defiance when they first arrive. Many of them truly believe initially, that they are superior to our program, entitled and privileged to special compensations. Tsk, tsk, well… once again, that will soon change. I pick up my phone and dial for Auntie Bertha. Auntie Bertha is Bertha Louise Washington, a large black woman with a heart of gold. Auntie Bertha is one of our counselors and all of our girls have come to love her after they get to know her. However, at first meeting, her appearance is wholly intimidating. And given that most of our girls these days are now typically young and lily white, her mere presence during our initial orientations has proved invaluable in subduing any rebellious outburst or intransigence during the induction process. Mind you, though Auntie Bertha is at heart, a gentlewoman, she demands obedience and will broker no disruption.

It is a substantially cowered Miss Lohan that leaves her purse on my desk and meekly accompanies Auntie Bertha from my office for the short walk down the hall to Nurse Beatrice. I ring up Beatrice to request that she convey Miss Lohan’s sizing requirements to Alice as soon as they are known. I then call Alice, to alert her to the expected call and explain my decision to alter Miss Lohan’s selection of clothing to reflect the unmistakable polar opposite to any of her previous wardrobes. After a bit of analytical query and discussion, back and forth as to functionality and practicality, we decide on several mature, but resort-wear stylish, pants-outfits, a few of those simple zip-up house dresses and one nice church dress for special occasions. I’ll leave the particulars and specific outfit choices with Alice, as I am sure that Alice, a middle aged woman herself, will have no hesitancy in making the appropriate selections. We end our conversation with the understanding that upon Alice’s return, she will put Miss Lohan’s purchases in the dispensary and join us with one complete outfit in the salon.

I have one more call to make. Lillian Gerber, another of our counselors, is also our hair stylist. Out of the same genius that has driven my decision to dress Miss Lohan in clothing, universally associated with an older, middle-aged woman… I have decided to forgo our usual bowl and page hairstyle as too conventional to be an effective daily reminder of her commitment to change. I tried to describe my vision for some dramatically different cut and style that will remind her, every time she looks in a mirror, that she is no longer footloose and fancy free. I want her wearing a hairstyle that is rock solid, conservative, plain and mature. Lillian mulled this over in her mind for a while, as I went on, as best I could within the bounds of decency, to try and describe how she looked in some of her later photographs. Finally, Lillian responded.

“Well… I suppose we could give her something like I do for my mother Ethel. Lord knows she is certainly conservative enough anymore.”

“Your mother, Ethel? How is she these days? How old is she now?”

“Well… of course, she’s getting up there. Mother turned eighty-one in February… doesn’t move as quickly as the old days, but she’s well. Thank you for asking.”

“And you still do her hair?”

“Oh, heavens yes… every week. We keep it shorter now and still do the perm… neat and tidy you know… no fuss, no muss. Mother looks very nice. Her hair is thinner of course and I’ve been adding a slight blue tint for the last three years. She looks quite distinguished these days… quite the elder matriarch.”

“Eighty-one… good for her. That’s sounds delightful. Well, Mother Ethel would certainly be a
most exemplary role model for this Lohan girl. Do you think you could cut her hair into a style similar to your mothers? Without the blue tint, of course… her hair is bleached now, though it’s been growing out and her natural color is returning.”

“Oh sure, nothing to it. I imagine she has a full head of young healthy hair under that peroxide, take a tight perm nicely. This will be fun. She’ll look so cute and prim when we’re done, she won’t even recognize herself.”

“Great. Then that’s settled. Lillian, you be sure to give your mother my best. Bye.”


“Miss Lohan, how very nice of you to join us. I’m Lillian, please have a seat in my chair and we’ll get started. Hmm… I see you’ve received a completely satisfactory examination from Nurse Beatrice. And you are all scrubbed and showered, nails clipped and clean and topped, with freshly shampooed hair… Hmm… and no lice… that is very good. Where is your uniform? Why are you still wearing your examination gown?”

“Yeah… well like for sure… I dunno.”

“Miss Lohan’s outfits haven’t arrived yet.”

“I see. Well. That’s no problem at all, hop up here and we’ll get started. Well… Miss Lohan… we don’t need to be so formal in here, do you have a first name?”


“My, that is a pretty name. Well, let’s get you in a cape and go to work.”

“What are you going to do with my hair?”

“Well, Lindsay. The first thing we’re going to do is cut away all of this bleached mess and then give it a little curl.”

“What! Are you friggin’ nuts! You’re not cutting my hair! Get your friggin’ hands away from me!”

“Lindsay, Lindsay, Lindsay. Do we need Auntie Bertha to hold you down?”

“You friggin’ BITCH!”


It is upon this scene that I enter the salon. Miss Lohan sits crimson faced and sobbing like a baby in Lillian’s chair. Bertha towers in front of her, having just slapped the defiant young girl, smartly across her face… although, at this very moment, she doesn’t look at all defiant.

“Do we have a problem here?”

“No, not really. Lindsay was reluctant to have her hair cut and was beginning to become abusive, but Bertha seems to have convinced her to sit nicely and behave while I continue, rather then be taken over Auntie’s knee for a sound spanking. Isn’t that right, Lindsay?”

“Sniff… sniff.”


“Ye… yes.”

The salon chair faces the mirror so that Lindsay can clearly observe Lillian’s work. Bertha hovers just off Lillian’s shoulder, and reflected ominously in Lindsay’s view, is able to intervene at the first sign of trouble. I watch with interest as the bleached bulk of hair is quickly severed from her head and falls to the floor. In no time at all, her hair is reduced to a rough, shaggy layered cut of roughly three inches in length. Lindsay’s teary, pink eyes dart franticly back and forth, between Bertha and me and her own reflection. Lillian then switches to a smaller shears and begins to blend the rough lengths together, shortening the sides and back into a softer, rounded shape. It’s a nice cut actually, not nearly as severe looking as our usual bowl. Miss Lohan is a very pretty girl and at the moment, this gamine shape looks quite attractive on her. I notice that she’s actually smiling slightly, no doubt she has reached the same conclusion and is relieved that we have not completely butchered her hair. Lillian continues to trim the length along the back and sides of her head, gradually exposing more of her ears.

At this point, Lillian appears to be finished with the cut and turns the chair around, tilting it back so that Miss Lohan’s head is resting comfortably in the counter sink. She is given a quick wash and rinse to remove loose clippings. Then, having returned Miss Lohan’s chair to upright and again facing the mirror, she pulled her taborette of curlers and rods into position next to her. It’s fascinating to watch Lillian work. She does my hair of course, actually… she takes care of all of the staff here, but none of us have a young head of hair as full as this Lindsay Lohan. Deftly sectioning a slim horizontal strip of hair between comb and finger, Lillian begins to tightly wind Lindsay’s hair, starting at the top center of her forehead, around a slim pink roller.


“Lindsay! What’s the matter?”

“That’s tight! You’re pulling my hair out!”

“Nonsense. Surely you’ve had your hair set before. Everyone surely has… and your file indicates that you’ve been in the entertainment business. Surely a roller set is not so unusual?”

“Yeah… well… I am a damn big star in Hollywood. I have my hair done all the time, by damn good stylists… and it’s with big fat cushioned curlers… for lottsa body… ya know? Nobody pulls on my friggin’ hair like this… NOBODY! What the friggin’ hell kind of friggin’ skanky ass, body do you hicks think you’re gonna put in my hair with those friggin’ little, piss ass rollers?”

“Lindsay! Your mouth! Control yourself! Do you need some quiet time with Auntie Bertha?”


“Then I suggest you keep your mouth closed and relax.”

“It’s just… it’s so tight.”

“Lindsay, child, I’ve been setting hair for thirty-five years. You just relax and enjoy it.”

Lillian continues to roll Lindsay’s hair in a succession of small rods that run down the center of her head, stopping at back, slightly below the occipital. In the mirror, I watch Lindsay’s face twist in a grimace of discomfort as each rod is wound and clipped, but… for the slight wince, she generally keeps her tongue still. A pair of parallel rows of the pink rods, are added along side the center section and then the sides are rolled in tight stacks running in the opposite direction. When her head is completely covered with the rods, there is still a fair amount of short hair sticking out of her neck and all around her ears. Lillian seems to be done with the rollers, though. Those bottom hairs do look a little scruffy and I really thought she would roll them up as well. Well, perhaps she’ll feather it down and blend it in with the shears.


The harsh snap of electric clippers, cracks through the room. Though I did see Lillian pick them up, the sound still startles me! Lindsay, however, did not see it coming and bolts upright, eyes as wide as a frightened deer! She’s caught us all off guard and is already out of the chair, cape flying and running for the door. Fortunately I am positioned between her and escape and am able to slow her down, just enough for Bertha to react and assist me. Bertha’s large arms encircle her in a powerful bear hug and lift her from the floor. Though Lindsay’s arms are restrained, she is spitting and screaming profanities at the top of her lungs and kicking out savagely and wildly. I myself, receive a jarring, sharp and painful kick to my shin.

“Now this is really enough! Bertha… Please!”

Lindsay is no match for Bertha and in short order, still clasped tightly against Bertha’s ample bosom, is carried back into the center of the salon. Bertha sits down on a wooden stool and easily turns the young girl around, putting her face down across her lap. I myself walk over to restrain one wrist and swiftly pull the hem of her gown up and over her back to expose her bare buttocks. Lillian restrains her other wrist as Bertha smartly slaps her open hand down, hard on Lindsay’s now vulnerable rear.


The howl is unearthly. The profanities… vile and blasphemous. Clearly this young woman is not ready to be treated as an adult.

“Lillian! Just listen to this filth. I’ve never heard such disgusting, venomous language! Do you have a bar of soap? Such a filthy mouth as this… on a young girl… must be thoroughly cleansed.”

Lillian had to release her hand to fetch a bar of soap and Lindsay took immediate advantage of this, flailing savagely at me, knocking my spectacles askew. I am furious!

“Bertha! This girl is incorrigible!”

Bertha laid into her with another healthy swa
t, unleashing another diatribe from her potty mouth. Bertha laid into her again and again. It is a thunderous exchange… the harsh, cracking sound of Bertha’s broad palm on bare flesh… the screeching, banshee cacophony from her lungs. Lillian places a new bar of white Ivory in my hand and I press it deeply into her open mouth.

“MMMMUUUU… MMMMUUUU… Mmmmuu… mmuu… muh… muh… mu… mu… ga… ga…”

I hold the thick bar of soap firmly in her mouth. That silences her. She is openly crying… tears flush her eyes to overflowing as Bertha continues to give her, a surely long over due, sound and most richly deserved spanking. She has stopped struggling and now lays meekly across Bertha’s lap accepting the punishment delivered upon her crimson flesh. We’ve released her wrists and her hands are now clenched together in tiny balls beneath her chin. Her lips are relaxed… closed around the soap bar as she suckles it gently, moaning… sobbing… slobbering… drooling bubbles against my hand.



“Lindsay? Do you think we can get back in the chair like a big girl and finish your hair?”

“Muu… muu…”

Incredibly, throughout her entire hysterics and our necessarily stern corrective measures, not a single pink rod has become, even slightly dislodged from her head. A true testament to Lillian’s skill, if ever you doubted her expertise! It is a quite and hopefully repentant, Lindsay Lohan that climbs back into Lillian’s chair with no assistance or further resistance to the business at hand. She does wince yet again, no doubt involuntarily, as Lillian snaps on the electric clippers, but this time there is no juvenile outburst or tantrum. A great sigh of relief on my part, I assure you. She seems more than occupied with what I expect is the residual taste of soap upon teeth and tongue. Her lips and mouth contort feverishly in her efforts to rid her palate of the white paste.

Lillian places the buzzing teeth of the clippers, with no guard, directly beneath the bottom row of rods and strips away all of the remaining loose hair. Tilting Lindsay’s head to the side, she thins and carves neat little vestigial side points in front of her ears. Following that, Lillian lightly dabs a white foam over this freshly bared skin and with straight razor, carefully shaves off the stubble, so that all that remains beneath the rods is shinny and clear, pink flesh.

There is nary a whimper, nor question, nor complaint from Miss Lohan, to my continuing surprise, as Lillian wraps a rolled, absorbent towel around her lower head and applies a generous amount of chemical solution, saturating the entire length of each rod and caps her. A thick, pungent aroma soon fills the room. Ah… the permanent solution! Ah… perhaps I’ve spoken too soon?

“Gah… Can I ask… ah… wha… what’s that?”

“Oh, just a setting solution. Something to help hold a curl… like a Toni, only stronger.”

“Is it… it won’t damage my hair?”

“Naw… you have nice healthy hair, Lindsay. It’ll take nicely. Come on, you can sit under the dryer for a while, we’ll speed things up. Would you like something to read? There’s the Bible and some older issues of the Ladies Home Journal.”

Under the watchful eye of Bertha, Lindsay cautiously moved over, under Lillian’s old chrome hair dryer and got herself comfortable, but she didn’t seem interested in any of our reading material. No bother, really… she will soon have plenty of reading assignments in the coming days, as she studies and takes part in the curriculum. Well, this is certainly a pleasant relief. I had honestly expected much more resistance from her… certainly another tantrum over the perm. Although, technically, Lillian hasn’t exactly told her she’s received a perm… I truly doubt that any young girl these days, for that matter, have any ideas what a Toni is… or was. It is sublimely gratifying, none the less, to see her sitting peacefully and complacently, like a proper young lady in her perm rods under the hum of the dryer. Heavens, of course, I’m under it all the time, as are the other counselors, when Lillian does our hair. But the rest of our students, with their simple pages and bowls… well, there just really isn’t much need for a curler set.

It is with these comforting thoughts, that perhaps we’ve already turned the corner and little Lindsay might actually be on the road to salvation, earlier then originally anticipated, that I catch the equally knowing glint of satisfaction in Auntie Bertha’s eye. My musings are interrupted by a knock on the door. Now who can that be?


“Alice! Is that you?”

“Yes. May I come in?”

I’ve completely lost track of the time. I have not realized how long it must have taken us to convince Lindsay that her cooperation is essential to her rehabilitation and ultimate release back into the more genteel segments society. Alice has already returned from the K-Mart with Lindsay’s brand new wardrobe! How delightful! Alice is beaming. She walks in carrying an outfit on a hanger and two other filled, plastic shopping bags.

“Well, this is just perfect timing! Lindsay is drying under the machine and we are all really just standing around waiting for her hair to set. She could certainly get dressed now and in the little time that should take, she may then be ready for her comb out. Alice! What have you brought for us? Are the rest of her things in the dispensary already?”

“Yes they are. Well, first let me hang up this outfit, so it doesn’t wrinkle. Let me see now, well of course, first… her panties.”

“My goodness, look at these. What is this wide padding running through the crotch from waistband to waistband? Are they…”

“Shush, she’ll hear you. Yes, they’re women’s incontinence panties. We did agree that dressing her in mature garments would reinforce a more mature confidence in herself, knock some of that little Miss Smarty-pants attitude out of her head and allow her to be more sympathetic to the realities and needs of others less fortunate then herself.”

“Yes, but incontinence panties? I hardly think she needs them.”

“Shush. She’ll never know. She’ll just think they’re grown up panties, she’s supposed to grow up and that will be that.”

“Lindsay? Lindsay… Can you hear me under that dryer?”

“Huh? Yeah… ah… yes… what?”

“Do come out from under there and let’s get you dressed. Alice has brought you some lovely new clothing. It’s time you dressed.”

“Here? Right, here? In front of you all?”

“Of course. We’re all ladies here. Nothing new for us to see… and from some of those photographs I’ve seen in your file… you haven’t been all that bashful or modest in the past. Come here and put on your panties.”

“My panties? These things? They’re… they’re old lady, shinny whities… granny panties! I don’t even wear panties! This is a joke, right? You’re playing with me?”

“MY God! Look at her! She’s shaved her pubic hair!”

Alice has not seen the pictures in her file. In some of them, she has been photographed in extremely short skirts and no underwear. Magazine pictures of her getting in and out of cars in broad daylight… in front of crowds of people… certainly in front of photographers, eager to capture her scandalous and sordid display. She knows no shame in publicly exposing the most intimate and private part of her female anatomy. Alice of course is shocked and Auntie Bertha is not at all amused. It is potentially a tense situation. Bertha is no mood for more insolence or back talk.

“Lindsay, my Dear. You will be wearing panties from now on and these are precisely the panties you will wear. Now… Let’s hear no more about it.”

Wisely, she takes them from me, steps into them and pulls then up her legs. They cover over her belly button, fully enclose her little bum and the elastic around each leg opening keeps them snug around her thighs. She is certainly fully concealed now. Incredulous… She is looking down at the wide, opaque nylon expanse of bright white material, whi
ter than even the panties themselves, containing the absorbent padding, that now rises front and back, through her crotch to her waistband.

“What’s this all about?”

“Modesty. Lindsay, modesty.”

Alice has regained her composure from the bare labia incident, but is still visibly shaken. She reaches again into her plastic bag and lifts out a white brassiere, though her fingers do fumble, trying to open the clear packaging before handing it to Lindsay. I note with some amusement that it is a crisp, long-line, posture bra with firm cups, wide shoulder straps and wide bands of criss-crossing elastic that will keep her shoulders from slouching. Lindsay refrains from verbal comment this time, although she does role her eyes in a brief display of disbelief at Alice’s selection. Perhaps remembering the earlier episode across Bertha’s knee, she remains contrite and slips her arms through the openings as if putting on a jacket. The brassiere closes in the front and she winces as she adjusts her breasts within the stiff cups and clips the six hook and eye closures shut. There is a glare and the touch of anger in her eye.

“OK… Real cute! Ok… granny panties, granny bra… what’s next… figgin’ granny’s girdle? Sorry… I’m really sorry… I didn’t mean to say that.”

“No, actually… just these knee highs.”

Alice hands the package of suntan nylons over to Lindsay.

“Gawd… This is… Geez… what elegance. Can I at least sit down to put these on?”

Her sarcasm is obvious, but we allow it to pass for now, since she is not refusing our request. Lindsay walks over to the same stool used during her earlier lesson in attitude adjustment, sits down and works the new nylons up her calves. They rise to just below her knees where a darker band of elastic keeps them in place. The toes, soles and heels also appear slightly darker because of a double reinforcing layer. My, my… the white, high waist, full cut panties, overlapped by the long, wide strapped posture bra, completely cover her body. She’s certainly not displaying any scandalous flesh now, is she! And with the knee-highs… and her head covered by the shinny perm cap, why… she already looks ten years older!

“Well, Alice. I can’t wait to see Lindsay in her new outfit. So, what exactly have we selected for our special “Lady To Be”?”

Alice has walked over to the hanger to retrieve the outfit, but Lillian suddenly steps up to suggest that we should first take a peek at Lindsay’s hair, since the perm has been setting in for a while now, and she would hate to see her hair frizzle and snap. Lillian stands between Lindsay, Alice and I, as she carefully lifts the cap from her head to check the condition. Alice and Bertha are effectively blocking Lindsay’s view of us, and I implore of Alice to please give me a preview of the new outfit. Alice of course is more then happy to comply. She’s very excited over her selection and is surely as anxious as I, to see Lindsay in it. Oh! It’s perfect… a pale, slate blue, fuller woman’s “generous” cut, double-knit polyester pantsuit. The wide leg, elastic waist, pull on slacks are in a solid blue color. The collar and elbow length sleeves, of the matching button front top, are also in the same solid slate color. But the bodice… dear me… the front and the back, is silk-screen printed in color coordinated, large geometric blocks, some in different blue and white flowered prints, some in blue and white gingham check… some just plain white or solid blue squares… all meant to resemble a delightful country patchwork, quilt pattern. It’s just adorable!

“Oh, Alice! This is just wonderful! And you picked this up at the K-Mart? I just love it! My goodness! I wonder… Do they have this in my size?”

“Oh, I know! Yes… It’s just so sweet and cheerful looking, and yet so tasteful isn’t it? I just love the color and way the solids and patterns compliment each other. I couldn’t resist it. And her shoes… just wait until you see these shoes! They’re Propets… white walking sandals with three adjustable Velcro straps across the instep and nice thick, cushioned soles. Why they’re so comfortable, I bought a pair for myself!”

“Oh, My! Lillian! How is her hair? We simply must see her in this outfit right away! You’ll just die!”

“She’s ok. I should get her back into the chair though and get this neutralized. We shouldn’t let this sit too long. I guess she can take a few more minutes to get dressed, but she needs to be quick about it.”

“Perfect. This shouldn’t take her, but a minute. Quickly, Lindsay, here… here… slip into these slacks… they’ll pull right on.”

We don’t give Lindsay the slightest opportunity to examine the slacks closely. She simply takes them, slipping one foot through a baggy pant leg, hopping a bit on one leg and then slides the other through. When she pulls them up, they rise very high around her waist and cover even the tops of her panties.

“What the freaking hell… dumbass stupid… dead friggin’ old lady…”


Bertha abruptly slaps Lindsay across her foul mouth one more time.

“Not one more word. Now put this top on, button it up to your neck.”

It is amazing how she can respond and follow direction with proper motivation. It’s just a shame we have to continually chastise and punish her like this. It’s really unfortunate. A girl her age should have learned to follow simple instruction by now. Really!

“That’s better. Now straighten your collar, let’s be neat shall we? Good. And now these walkers… put them on and get right back into Lillian’s chair as fast as you can. Not another word… NOW… MOVE!”

Pity, I had hoped to have a moment to study her, to at least see how well her new outfit fit on her. But… enough of that. It’s important that she be taught obedience and learn that when we ask her to do something, we expect her to comply immediately, with no question asked and no smart back talk. Red faced, Lindsay does scurry right back into the chair though, and Lillian soon has her plastic cape snapped over her again. Well, this will soon be the moment we are all waiting for. Lillian is removing the rods and Lindsay’s hair is recoiling into tightly sprung, little curly cylinders.

Lillian begins to pick at the little coils of hair, with a long, five pronged type of comb, separating them into just a thick mass of tiny little curls. It doesn’t look like her hair is three inches long anymore. The curls are so tight they seem to go around on themselves a couple of times. I still wish Lillian could have cut out all of those bleached ends. Although now, her hair does look like it’s been frosted and I suppose, in that way… the bleached ends and the dark roots are all mixed together, so some might just think it makes her look, that much older and smarter.

Lillian keeps patting and shaping her hair into what I’d generally have to call, a tight little, round curly ball. My heaven’s! Is this the same set, Lillian has been giving her Mother Ethel? I suppose Mother Ethel’s hairline is much more receded and her set sits higher off her forehead, but this does look so very nice. I just love the way all those curls frame her face… like a little cherub. Mmm, we may have to pat a bit of powder on her skin to flatten out that shine on her forehead, but she does look so very clean and wholesome. Well, my, my, it is a very cute style… quite pert, indeed!

Lillian has reached for her electric clippers again, to lightly skim it along the surface of Lindsay’s hair, to nip the stray and few errant hairs that do not conform to the precise circumference she envisions. Then… finally… putting them down… she holds the palm of her hand open, over Lindsay’s eyes and envelopes her head in a heavy, misty scented, cloud of ElNetty’s Superior Hold Hair Lacquer.

Lindsay, to her credit, has been extremely quiet and cooperative throughout the comb out and these last final touches. She has sat as still as a church mouse and intently observed the transformation in the mirror before her. No doubt she is as thri
lled at the result, as are we all. I certainly hope we won’t have to remind her to thank Lillian for all her hard work. Lillian has given a simply exemplary cut and style to this girl. I hope she appreciates it!

“Lindsay! Stand up and let us have a good look at you… just as soon as Lillian removes your cape.”

The little Dear is still staring at the mirror. She seems mesmerized by her appearance.

“Come on now. Come down from the chair. Let’s have a full look at you.”

Slowly she rises. Hesitantly… one foot, down… then the other. She looks again at the mirror… raising a hand to her face… and then to her hair. Tentatively, she touches her hair, pressing a finger into it… probing.

“Don’t worry Lindsay… you can’t hurt it. You can swim in it, shower, towel it dry… it doesn’t matter… it will stay exactly like that… all of the time. We’ll have it touched up, as you need it… but, for the most part… it’s absolutely indestructible.”

It’s always a thrill to see the new girls discover themselves, like this… when they first rise from Lillian’s chair. The look on their faces is precious. She still can’t believe the change; I’m sure, but over time she will get used to it. Lindsay fingers the collar of her pantsuit. Why, even I cannot quite get over how much older and mature she looks right now. With her pale skin… she looks like she’s fifty years old, if she’s a day over twenty-one. Alice has made an absolutely fabulous selection with that outfit… it’s the perfect compliment to her perm. Why, save for her younger skin, she looks exactly like one of the older counselors here at the Rachel Macmillan Home! A miraculous transformation! I only hope that the rest of the girls don’t think she’s going to get special treatment now that she looks like one of us and treat her unkindly… because she won’t. She still certainly has a lot to learn!

“Lindsay! Look this way. I want to take some photographs. We want to send some nice pictures to the judge in California and to those terrible magazines that print those awful articles about you. And we can put some on your website too! You want everyone in the world to know that you’ve made a positive commitment to change your ways and that you’ll act like a proper adult now. Stand between Lillian and Auntie Bertha. Alice, you get in there too. That’s it… Lindsay. Take hold of Auntie Bertha’s hand. Yes… and smile… that’s nice… that’s so sweet. And… another one. Good. Now… yes, you keep a hold of her hand… and this time, I want you to look up at her… look deeply into your Auntie Bertha’s eyes and smile. Give her a big smile now. Yes… that’s good… and thank her for helping you control your outbursts. Promise her you’ll try very, very hard to over come all of your old nasty habits and be as good as you can possibly be… every day… for the entire year and a half that you will be here with us, at Macmillan Home! Come on now… Lindsay, look at the camera… and say it again… I can’t hear you.”

Poor Dear… is she blushing? That is so cute… She’s just speechless with gratitude and humility!

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