“Now your shirt, please.”Īt least a dozen more jokes sprung to mind-it’s like going to the gynecologist, only in workout wear it’s not just anyone she’ll show her underwear to on the first date et cetera-but Charlie held back. “Very well, thank you.” The official made a notation on her legal pad. No matter how much I sweat, no one will get a show.” “All the way, Charlie,” Marcy said sternly, but it was obvious she was trying not to smile.Ĭharlie pulled the skirt up to reveal the waistband of the white Lycra shorts she wore beneath. The official’s eyes narrowed to a steely squint, but she didn’t say a word. “I promise you, everything’s in order down there, ma’am,” Charlie said, as politely as she could. All business.Īfter glancing at her coach, Marcy, Charlie lifted the edges of her pleated white skirt and waited. The woman’s voice was clipped, British proper. It wasn’t every day a middle-aged woman wearing a neat bun and a purple polyester suit directed you to lift your skirt.
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