“You have got to wear these!” Brandy held aloft a pair of red stilettos.
“Won’t they clash with my sweater?” I pull on the front of my favorite sweater; heather gray and softer than anything.
“Monica. You are not wearing that.”
“Why not? It’s my favorite.”
“The elbows are thinned, the waist is stretched out, and there’s a hole on the back.”
“There is?” I pull it off over my head and begin to inspect it with micro precision.
“Left shoulder blade.”
I turn the garment quickly, running my fingers over the fabric, wincing when I feel the hole. “Oh no…”
“Face it. Besides, you’re changing anyway. You might as well let me pick out your outfi...
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