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I can carry two filled cups of coffee across the room without spilling a drop, and without rattling the lamps. Since an artificial limb is of little use without a stump to propel it, we stumpless one‑leggers, if we wish to use our hands while we move about, must hop. So I dance, with only my husband an occasional onlooker, and keep in superb physical condition, a true monopede. It all stems from my two‑legged girlhood and my passion for dancing, which has carried over into my one‑legged womanhood the ballerina's fierce devotion to physical discipline and her unquenchable need to dance. I could perhaps qualify for associate membership in the sisterhood by virtue of my considerable virtuosity as a hopper‑‑and my breasts do bounce nicely when I hop, even though I have no stump to wave enticingly. Except for that disastrous southwest pelvic area I am not otherwise unattractive. Over a year ago my husband showed me the letters in Penthouse from and about female amputees, and since that time I have read them all faithfully with a mixture of feelings: gratitude to Penthouse for dragging us one‑leggers and our sister one‑armers out from the unmentionable class, and pleased surprise to learn that men find us especially s*exy, even though I am sorry to realize that I do not qualify for the really s*exy sisterhood because I have no stump.