Let Me Take You by the Hand
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     Mom stopped by this evening. She walked through the door with a newspaper under her arm and a tub of cookies in her hands.

     “You look like Dad,” I said, “on his way to the bathroom.”

     “Your father doesn’t read on the toilet,” she said.

     “I wasn’t talking about the newspaper.”

     Mom got right to her point, which was unusual for her. “Make me some tea,” she said, “and tell me about this new girlfriend.”

     “How did you know?”

     “Your sister.”

     I turned on the stove and Mom began her interrogation. “What do you like about her?”


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