“Ow! That’s my rib, Molly—one of them, anyway,” we could hear my mom saying.

“If I don’t make it tight, Ray, your dress will slip down—there’s nothing but your boobs to hold it up, and you don’t exactly have humdingers,” the night groomer told her.

“I didn’t know that’s how you felt about my boobs, Molly,” we could hear my mother saying, “but it doesn’t matter what you think of them—you’re crushing them!”

“I’m very fond of your boobs, Ray,” we heard the snowcat operator say. “I’m just telling you that your boobs can’t keep your dress from slipping down—not all by themselves.”

“Ow!” my mom cried out again. “That’s my nipple, Molly, or what’s left of it—one of them, anyway.”

“Dressing you will be a lot easier than this, Adam,” one of the girl jocks told me.

“Yeah, I could dress Adam in under a minute, start to finish—the necktie and everything,” Nelly said.

“You could undress Adam in under a minute, Nelly—I don’t doubt that,” said the girl jock sitting behind me.

“It’ll take you more than a minute to tie the necktie, Nelly—everything else, in under a minute, is easy,” another girl jock said.

“I could use a little help with the necktie,” I told them. “I don’t need help with anything else.”

“Listen to me, Kid,” Nelly said. “When you get dressed, except for the necktie, come find us. We’ll take care of the tie. Then we’ll get into our bridesmaids’ dresses in your mom’s bedroom. Got it?”

“Got it,” I said.

“Ow!” my mom cried.

“I almost have it, Ray,” the trail groomer told her.

I went along the hall to my mother’s bedroom, where I found my clothes neatly laid out on the bed. My mom’s clothes, and Molly’s clothes, were everywhere else. The night groomer’s clothes looked huge in comparison to my mother’s small things. On the dressing table, in front of my mom’s makeup mirror, was a very big bra. I knew it was Molly’s bra—she had humdingers.

There were two razors in my mother’s bathroom, but I didn’t have to shave. To my disappointment, I was showing no signs of a beard. My mom liked to run her finger over my upper lip, because she said it was so smooth. “Don’t ever grow a mustache, sweetie,” she would tell me, but I wished I could grow one.