"My job is very tough, Donald, and if I don't get some type of relief from the tensions and responsibilities I'm going to go mad or worse yet, have a breakdown. This way I'm always going to know that my home is a clean safe harbor Not only that but at home I'll be loved, no that's not right, I'll be adored and I'll be pampered. Aren't I right Donald?"
Finally I was going to be given a chance to speak.
"Please, Pamela, I don't want to be maid. I'll clean the house and cook and wash and do everything you want me to do, but don't make me dress as a maid."
"You just don't get it, do you Donald?" I don't want just a clean house. I want my house cleaned by a pretty maid. Let me spell it out. I want you, Donald Kaye, to wear a frilly, fluffy, pretty, lacy, petticoated uniform in front of me and when I'm not around. Is that really hard for you to understand? Let me try again. I want you to look, think, smell, act, feel, hear, talk and be a swishy little sissy."