I am revisiting my own handbag. I wanted to buy a new one to celebrate my new book, Christmas, and Valentine's Day. I ordered one, but no. Not the navy leather I'd picked and the size was a bit larger. Back it went.
This Mary Frances bag is a favorite of mine. Her handbag is decorated with beads, ribbons, velvet flowers, and leaves. The size of this one is larger than other Mary Frances' bags. I have three others and they lean to special event bag.
The bag looks special, not something you would see or carry every day.
Stuart bounded to my side. “Hattie. Allan. You’re naturals.”
I rolled my eyes. Great. I passed the tango test.
I stayed in position for what seemed like hours but most likely were five loonnng minutes. My lower back spasmed, which caused me to grimace. Allan pulled ever-so-gently and restored me to my feet. I removed my hands from his. Moisture coated my palms and sweat dripped down my back along my spine. I was a wreck.
“Thank you so much, couple.” A beaming Ms. Yolanda rotated. “I’m impressed by your length and beauty.”
Length and beauty—my ass.
“Failure’s not a choice. Try again, and if that doesn’t work, again. Are you a quitter?”
“No.” Until I resembled an idiot. I snagged the towel to wrap my torso, feeling indignation root in my
tummy. Standing, I adjusted the ends under my armpits and maneuvered the curtain to one side to step over the rim. I opened the hall door. “If only his cell phone wouldn’t interrupt us.” I smiled. “He would probably like the binding part.”
With a grin, Jenny bounced her brows. “I hear police handcuffs are the way to go.”
I laughed. “Funny. What else did he want other than the ride offer?”
“Here.” She plucked my phone from the counter next to the toothpaste tube and a glass jar filled with cotton swabs. “Push one.”
I stared at my phone, utterly amazed. “You assigned a number…on speed dial…on my phone? Without telling me? When did you do this?”
Jenny shrugged. “Long time ago. Seemed prudent.”
In my Book of Debts, I didn’t owe him one iota. However, I could hear my mother in my ear, trotting out a page from the “Right Thing to Do” lecture. What Stuart’s mom did broke all wedding protocol, and Allan doing his saintly thing told her he would help, which translated meant he desperately needed somebody else’s help.
“Jonson doesn’t comprehend the concept. Not with a small part”—with a mischievous grin, I crooked my little finger—“like his.”
Behind her hand, Tracey snickered for a moment, then grew somber. “And how would you know his man part size, sister dear?”
“Why, sister dear, you told me.”
“So I did.”
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