Elizabeth Chambers smiled as she gripped the wheel tightly of the John Deere tractor she controlled, made the wide swing, and then with fluid motion that only came from years of farm life, dropped the disc harrow and began to churn up the fertile soil. As the tractors eight tires dug into the dirt and its motor labored from the harrow it was dragging, she looked to either side. For acres the freshly upturned soil stretched as far as the eye could see. That is except for one narrow strip of virgin soil that her tractor now straddled. As the harrow began to pulverize this last remaining strip, Liz watched as her machine and implement began to kick up dust and send it blowing gently across the flat ground that was her home.
If a small pebble had not lodged inside her shoe, her mind might have drifted into deep thought as it often did when spending the day inside a tractor. To make matters worse, it was her right foot and the once she used to push the clutch on the tractor. Grimacing one last time as she upshifted her tractor, Liz set about to remedying the situation.
As the tractor chugged across the field, she withdrew her leg up into her lap and pulled off her shoe. For comfort she liked those white canvas sneakers that did not need to be unlaced in order to be removed and tipped it upside down hoping to see a small rock fall out. Other than a little dust she did not see anything, so after making a small steering correction to make sure her tractor was still aligned with the last remaining strip of untilled ground, she pulled off her sock as well. Shaking it, she watched as the tiniest of pebbles fell to the rubberized floor of the tractor. With a smile, she turned her attention to her other shoe and did the same thing, if only to ensure that her shoes were rock-free.
By that time she was nearing the end of the field so she kicked the shoes and socks into the corner of the cab not bothering to put them back on. Perhaps fifty years before operating a tractor barefoot would have been unheard of, but with the tractors now coming equipped with comfort cabs, Liz did not give it another thought. As she looked over her shoulder she also pulled a lever and watched as the wings of the disc harrow began to fold up while the wheels began to press down and lift the harrow discs out of the soil in preparation of transport.
As she pressed her bare foot into the clutch pedal, the serrated pad that was designed to keep a farmers foot from slipping off the pedal, pressed harshly into her foot, but hardly pain she could not endure. She only had a few shifts to make in any case as she got the tractor headed down the county road and towards her home. As the wind began to blow through the open cab door, Liz had time to look down at her clothes and smile.
Once a month, her best friend and her took a much needed break from farm life and headed into Yorkton, Saskatchewan, a town over three hours away. Liz smiled because she knew clothing would be nothing like the white canvas sneakers, white slouch socks and denim overalls she now wore. In fact she was quite sure it would be in dark contrast to these clothes. She smiled so wantonly because it had started out so innocently, with each one of them picking out each others clothes. The rules were simple; no matter what was chosen, the clothing choice had to be worn. With each subsequent trip into town, the clothes had grown more daring and Liz could only imagine what lay in wait.
As Liz pulled the tractor into the driveway and let the giant rumble of the engine come to a stop near their pole barn, she watched her husband toiling away on the broken down planter. Scooping her shoes and socks up off the cab floor, she strolled by stopping only long enough for a quick peck on the cheek.
"The west field is disked, but it's pretty wet on the north side still."
"Yeah it must be, so wet you had to take your shoes and socks off to wade through it huh? Why don't you take the rest of those clothes off and I'll show you what else needs to be plowed Honey," he joked.
"I would, but I am already late," she said knowing he loved it when she went barefoot around the farm. "I am supposed to meet Amanda at her house in half an hour."
"Well you two have fun," he said looking down at his wife's bare feet even as she walked away from him. Turning his attention back from his beautiful wife, he placed his wrench upon the bolt and began to break it loose.
Knowing her husband's attention would be fully on the broken down planter, Liz made a detour around the house and grabbed the brown paper bag full of clothes that Amanda had left inside her car's trunk sometime during the day. Not wanting the prying eyes of their husband's to see what they really wore; it was where they two of them agreed to place their clothing choices.
Now Liz could not resist the urge to sneak a peek at what lay in wait for her. Opening up the bag quickly, she peered inside. Nearly horrified, she quickly shut the bag and rushed into the house so her husband would not detect their secret hiding spot. Grabbing the phone out of the kitchen, she took two stairs at a time reaching the second story bathroom, turning a crimson red as she did so.
"I can't wear that," Liz sputtered as soon as she heard her best friend on the other end of the phone line.
"Liz simmer down, it's just a little black dress."
"It's not the damn dress Amanda that I have a problem with. It's not evening those stupid high heels that I pretty near broke my neck wearing last time. It's those stockings. I mean yeah I complained last time about wearing those garter stockings, but I wore them. This is different. Do you know what a fishnet stocking means? It's a calling card of a prostitute. I can't go out to a club wearing those Amanda."
"Liz, you know the rules. We each wear what the other person picks out. That's what makes it fun. You'll have a blast once you get over your little stage fright."
