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Pansy knew it was not going to be good to not go along, so agreed.Chrissie stood up and sang and danced the "I am a little tea pot song."She sang:I'm ... little teapot, short and stoutHere is my handle (she put one hand on her hip), here is my spout (herother arm was out straight)When I get all steamed up, hear me shoutJust tip me over and pour me out!(As song ended, she leaned over and tipped her arm out like a spout.)I'm a clever teapot, yes it's trueHere's an example of what I can doI can. Parked in one of the stalls was the dune buggy that Carl had been driving yesterday. In the stall next to it were two miniature versions. Single-seat go-cart type machines.Way off to the side, in a dusty corner, where the unused and discarded equipment was parked and forgotten was a carriage. Something that I had only seen pictures of. An English Phaeton. You could almost imagine the king and queen being carried down the county fair parade. Pulled by a matched pair of blacks. It was dusty and. Her father had first used him occasionally. It was somewhat of a coincidence when she ran into him as her professor in one of her classes. He didn't recognize her right away. She had been so shabbily dressed when she went in with her dad, and now in the first day of class she was differently dressed.She had high heels, a light green summer dress and her long reddish brown hair hung down to her waist behind her. He was so focused on the way her dress rode up, he never looked at her spectacular. She had wavy dark brunette hair with a few highlights that fell a little bit past her shoulders. She was thin, with a very narrow waist, but with voluptuous hips that swayed back and forth as she walked gracefully toward her on her high heeled shoes. She wore a navy business skirt that went down to just above the knee, below there, her long, legs showed, smooth and shiny, as if recently oiled and waxed. She clearly took good care of herself. Her face was pleasant but unreadable, as if she would.
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