The alarm clock rings until Scott stops the bell.
I pull back my sheets and blankets; climb out of bed; slip my red pedicured toes into my slippers; wrap my bathrobe around my yellow floral pajama shirt and pants; adjust my pink curlers and make my twin bed.
Scott is in the shower singing Jailhouse Rock. "You'll wake the neighbors!" I sing to him from behind the closed bathroom door. While the coffee maker brews, I set up the ironing board to iron the creases from his new dress shirt and slacks.
He looks so grown up, like my father. It is nice to see him in something besides his black leather jacket, cotton white tee-shirt and blue jeans. With gel in his combed back hair, he kisses me good morning.
When he leaves for his interview, I wish him luck.
I pull back my sheets and blankets; climb out of bed; slip my red pedicured toes into my slippers; wrap my bathrobe around my yellow floral pajama shirt and pants; adjust my pink curlers and make my twin bed.
Scott is in the shower singing Jailhouse Rock. "You'll wake the neighbors!" I sing to him from behind the closed bathroom door. While the coffee maker brews, I set up the ironing board to iron the creases from his new dress shirt and slacks.
He looks so grown up, like my father. It is nice to see him in something besides his black leather jacket, cotton white tee-shirt and blue jeans. With gel in his combed back hair, he kisses me good morning.
When he leaves for his interview, I wish him luck.
Sometimes, growing up feels more like going back in time.
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