Something Ladylike

Prom was a week away and, to my deepest surprise, I was excited. 

“Are you ready?”

My question was posed from behind the door. I rushed through it and into the living room, without bothering to wait for a response. Mum was curled up on our faded old sofa, wrapped up in a shawl despite already being by the fire, nursing a cup of tea and a slice of shortbread. I’d caught her engrossed in one of her dull antique programmes. She reluctantly muted it at my arrival, patting around half-heartedly in search of her glasses, keeping her eyes on the screen. 

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