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“You look so beautiful, sweetie. Doesn’t she look beautiful, honey?”

“More than my words can say.”

Dawn blushed as her mother and father showered her with praise. She scraped her flats against the floor, looking down at her feet while twirling her blond braid in the fingers on one hand, the other plucked at the hem of her short plaid skirt. “Awww, thanks you guys. You always know how to make me feel pretty.”

“Pumpkin, you are the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world,” added her father dotingly with a smile, before heading into his study to review some notes that were splayed across a large mahogany desk.

“Your father is right… but your mother taught you better, young lady,” whispered Mrs Meadows as she approached her daughter. “What did I tell you about ladders in your tights?” she scolded quietly.

“Mother!” gasped Dawn in a whisper. Her emerald eyes went wide as she inspected her nylons for the accused crime. Finding a patch of careless pulls, she immediately covered them with a well manicured hand, looking in the direction of her father, busy in his study.

“Oh don’t worry about him! Your father wouldn’t notice your run pantyhose if he had a magnifying glass,” assured her mother, softening with the humiliated concern on her daughter’s face.

Dawn let out a sigh of relief, turning her attention back to the snags. She picked at them in peculiar curiosity.

“But that doesn’t mean the rest of the world won’t. You want to be a star reporter, young lady?” her mother’s stern tone returned.

“Of course, mother. You know I do! I want to change the world!” beamed Dawn, her eyes sparkling with dreams.

“Then start acting like it. Change into a fresh pair of nylons. The world will perceive you the way you present yourself. A star reporter won’t show up in laddered pantyhose. And mind your control tops when sitting in a skirt. It’s unprofessional. Manage your hem. And for goodness sake, I don’t care how tired your feet are in heels, do not slip them off! Stocking feet being spotted in the office will tell those men one thing: that the only thing you are fit to do is serve coffee at their meetings.”

“Mother, you’re so dramatic. They’re just pantyhose,” Dawn groaned, hating to hear this same old speech from her overbearing mom.

“And that’s why I fear for you my daughter. You want to be in the stars, but fail to listen to wisdom. That will keep you down in the secretary pool!” The thought sent a chill down Dawn’s slender spine.

“Okay mom, I’ll take better care of my stockings,” shrugged the awkward teenager. She hated to admit it, but she appreciated the way her mother looked out for her, and tried to help guide her into growing up to be a successful young woman. “Thanks, mom,” she added, throwing a hug around the midsection of her surprised mother. Mrs Meadows gradually reciprocated the hug after being stunned by her headstrong daughter’s sudden display of affection.

“What are you girls talking about in there?” asked Mr Meadows from within his study. He had lowered the glasses down to the end of his nose while shuffling through an increasingly messy pile of papers.

“Pantyhose!” both women said in unison with a grin on their faces. Silence.

“Oh! Um, well, don’t--um--let me... well then, ahem! Carry on then!” mumbled Dawn’s father, rapidly returning to loudly shuffling his papers and coughing unnecessarily.

“See?” said Dawn’s mother with a lesson teaching grin. Dawn grinned to the point of containment before both women burst out laughing; long, hard, loving laughter.

“Yes, well. I’ll just be in here, erm, researching medical journals, ahem,” mumbled Mr Meadows. It was clear that he thought that the ladies of the household had lost their minds. But he loved them all the more for it. As evidenced by the subtle smile that had formed on his face, at the joyful sound of his precious girls.

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Here is part 7 of my brand new story. Pardon the somber/wistful tone and melodrama of this week's installment! Here we shift to a flashback sequence, or perhaps a sort of fever dream? As Dawn Meadows' deep psyche processes the complex chemical effects of forced sleep. Hope everyone enjoys, and as always, thanks for the support!

(This picture was made in Daz Studio 3.1.2.24 and post-worked in Adobe Photoshop CS2)

Description

“You look so beautiful, sweetie. Doesn’t she look beautiful, honey?”

“More than my words can say.”

Dawn blushed as her mother and father showered her with praise. She scraped her flats against the floor, looking down at her feet while twirling her blond braid in the fingers on one hand, the other plucked at the hem of her short plaid skirt. “Awww, thanks you guys. You always know how to make me feel pretty.”

“Pumpkin, you are the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world,” added her father dotingly with a smile, before heading into his study to review some notes that were splayed across a large mahogany desk.

“Your father is right… but your mother taught you better, young lady,” whispered Mrs Meadows as she approached her daughter. “What did I tell you about ladders in your tights?” she scolded quietly.

“Mother!” gasped Dawn in a whisper. Her emerald eyes went wide as she inspected her nylons for the accused crime. Finding a patch of careless pulls, she immediately covered them with a well manicured hand, looking in the direction of her father, busy in his study.

“Oh don’t worry about him! Your father wouldn’t notice your run pantyhose if he had a magnifying glass,” assured her mother, softening with the humiliated concern on her daughter’s face.

Dawn let out a sigh of relief, turning her attention back to the snags. She picked at them in peculiar curiosity.

“But that doesn’t mean the rest of the world won’t. You want to be a star reporter, young lady?” her mother’s stern tone returned.

“Of course, mother. You know I do! I want to change the world!” beamed Dawn, her eyes sparkling with dreams.

“Then start acting like it. Change into a fresh pair of nylons. The world will perceive you the way you present yourself. A star reporter won’t show up in laddered pantyhose. And mind your control tops when sitting in a skirt. It’s unprofessional. Manage your hem. And for goodness sake, I don’t care how tired your feet are in heels, do not slip them off! Stocking feet being spotted in the office will tell those men one thing: that the only thing you are fit to do is serve coffee at their meetings.”

“Mother, you’re so dramatic. They’re just pantyhose,” Dawn groaned, hating to hear this same old speech from her overbearing mom.

“And that’s why I fear for you my daughter. You want to be in the stars, but fail to listen to wisdom. That will keep you down in the secretary pool!” The thought sent a chill down Dawn’s slender spine.

“Okay mom, I’ll take better care of my stockings,” shrugged the awkward teenager. She hated to admit it, but she appreciated the way her mother looked out for her, and tried to help guide her into growing up to be a successful young woman. “Thanks, mom,” she added, throwing a hug around the midsection of her surprised mother. Mrs Meadows gradually reciprocated the hug after being stunned by her headstrong daughter’s sudden display of affection.

“What are you girls talking about in there?” asked Mr Meadows from within his study. He had lowered the glasses down to the end of his nose while shuffling through an increasingly messy pile of papers.

“Pantyhose!” both women said in unison with a grin on their faces. Silence.

“Oh! Um, well, don’t--um--let me... well then, ahem! Carry on then!” mumbled Dawn’s father, rapidly returning to loudly shuffling his papers and coughing unnecessarily.

“See?” said Dawn’s mother with a lesson teaching grin. Dawn grinned to the point of containment before both women burst out laughing; long, hard, loving laughter.

“Yes, well. I’ll just be in here, erm, researching medical journals, ahem,” mumbled Mr Meadows. It was clear that he thought that the ladies of the household had lost their minds. But he loved them all the more for it. As evidenced by the subtle smile that had formed on his face, at the joyful sound of his precious girls.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is part 7 of my brand new story. Pardon the somber/wistful tone and melodrama of this week's installment! Here we shift to a flashback sequence, or perhaps a sort of fever dream? As Dawn Meadows' deep psyche processes the complex chemical effects of forced sleep. Hope everyone enjoys, and as always, thanks for the support!

(This picture was made in Daz Studio 3.1.2.24 and post-worked in Adobe Photoshop CS2)