Amy Chelsea Stacie Dee
“I pull the curtain, and there’s Lee, smiling. I open the window, and she climbs in. She’s wearing a skirt and high heels and a face full of makeup, and her hair looks really poofy.
“Nice of you to dress up for me,” I say.
“It’s not for you,” she says. “It’s for the party.”
“Um . . . party?”
“Yep. It’s Saturday night. People have parties.” She turns on my desk lamp and heads for the closet, where most of my new clothes are hanging, untouched. She starts pulling things out.
“I... don’t know if I’m ready for a party,” I say.
“You are,” says Lee.
“You thought your mom was ready to have dinner with me,” I say.
“Mom’s Mom,” says Lee. “You’re you.”
“Everyone’s going to stare at me. They’ll take pictures.”
“So?”MoreLess
“Nice of you to dress up for me,” I say.
“It’s not for you,” she says. “It’s for the party.”
“Um . . . party?”
“Yep. It’s Saturday night. People have parties.” She turns on my desk lamp and heads for the closet, where most of my new clothes are hanging, untouched. She starts pulling things out.
“I... don’t know if I’m ready for a party,” I say.
“You are,” says Lee.
“You thought your mom was ready to have dinner with me,” I say.
“Mom’s Mom,” says Lee. “You’re you.”
“Everyone’s going to stare at me. They’ll take pictures.”
“So?”MoreLess
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