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And a jacket. I might be a grubby field engineer, but I can clean up pretty good.We got in the truck, but first I moved the console out of the way so she could sit next to me. Soft, idle chit-chat occupied our short trip and we pulled up the drive to what I would have called a mansion. Two stories. Landscaped. Circular drive. I parked immediately behind Helen's minivan.We rang the doorbell, standing together. Helen and the one I assumed to be the judge met us."Come in, come in," he said. Helen was smiling beside him. Helen cleaned up pretty nicely, too. Her grey hair was shoulder length, brushed pewter, and darned if she wasn't wearing makeup and it worked well for her. And she was wearing a DRESS. Helen. Who I never saw in anything but jeans and a man's shirt.He reached out his hand. I shook it. "Charles Peebles. You must be Dan. And this ... this angel ... must be Miss Cynthia." He offered a hand to Cindy and she shook it. "Nice handshake, Cindy," He said. "You like being called. They fell to the floor with a loud wet'plop!' "What a wet baby girl," she reproached me, and she dumped thesodden pieces of cloth in a white nappy bucket. She produced the bigpink potty from the cupboard and placing it in the centre of the coldtiled floor, seated me on the humiliating device. "I want you to tryand do number ones and number twos in the potty, like a big girl,Candy," she instructed me. "Go on. Show Aunty Mandy." She sat on theclosed toilet lid watching me and encouraging me to 'do my business'for about ten awful, humiliating minutes. I huddled in front of herhunched over the pink potty, wracked with shame and failing abysmally.Her girls all seemed to find a reason to visit the bathroom while I wasperched on the potty, and every few minutes a different head would poparound the doorway to ask Mandy a question or check on my progress. Mycheeks were blazing with shame by the time a disgusted Mandy gave up onme. She lifted me into the hot tub with a snort of impatience,.
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