The first time Nancy met the dreaded brush, it was a cold December evening. She’d been playing bridge with the girls and come home a little late. Roger gave her a warning, but dinner was on time and the evening looked to be pleasant. Nancy had done the laundry that morning, so she went to fold clothes before Leave it to Beaver came on. Now Nancy was perfectly aware of what things could and could not be put in the dryer. So, when she pulled Roger’s best woolen pants out with the rest of the clothes, she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. She held them up – they were small enough now to fit a child. Nancy groaned in dismay. To her further bad luck, Roger was nearby, getting a bottle of coke in the kitchen. “Nancy? What’s the matter?” For a wild second, Nancy thought about lying. But Roger’s terrible punishment when he’d caught her telling fibs flew through her mind, and she knew that the spanking she’d get now would be far more merciful than what might ha
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