I know you think what I’m about to write is an exaggeration, but I promise you that it isn’t.
From the time we got into the car to the time we came home, my mom literally did not stop talking. Not once.
Not even when I was in the dressing room trying on “slacks.”
She just stood outside the dressing room and worried out loud.
The things she said went all over the place. First, it was that my dad should’ve insisted that my brother come home if only for an afternoon.
Then, it was that my sister had better start thinking more about her future and start applying to “safety” schools
in case the good ones don’t work out. And then she started saying that gray was a good color for me.
I understand how my mom thinks. I really do. It’s like when we were little, and we would go to the grocery store.
My sister and brother would fight about things that my sister and brother would fight about, and I would sit at the bottom of the shopping cart.
And my mom would be so upset by the end of shopping that she would push the cart fast, and I would feel like I was in a submarine.
Yesterday was like that except now I got to sit in the front seat.
When I saw Sam and Patrick at school today, they both agreed that my mom has very good taste in clothing.
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