"Sharon's stuff fits you a lot better than mine does. So what do you think?"
"Liz, I'm still trying to figure out what I'm going to do about these nails. I can't stay in the house all week."
"If you were Cathy (ed.: the name that the little girls call him) you wouldn't have to worry about it. Jamie, you're so natural you could do it no problem. You should see yourself. You should hear yourself."
"I did," he answered. "I make a pretty good girl, huh?" he admitted, not displeased.
"Pretty's the perfect word for you Cathy." Jamie busily put the lingerie and pantyhose back in the dresser. "Are you listening little sister?"
"Yeah," Jamie sighed, picking up the brown bags and dumping them out on the bed. Liz watched his expression, a wry smile on her face, as he stared at the clothes she had brought for him: bras, panties - lacy nylon panties, not the drab cotton ones they had shared for years - slips, camisoles, pretty blouses, a couple of skirts, tights, pantyhose, nightgowns, shoes, socks, some makeup, a corduroy jumper, and a short pretty dress.