Dirty Little Secret
“Normally, the patio at my parents’ country club was one of my favorite spots. It offered both an unobstructed view of all the club’s amenities, including the pool, tennis courts, and golf course, and a panoramic view of the valley. But at that moment, I couldn’t appreciate any of it. All I wanted to do was curl up in a self-pitying ball of left over sickness. It didn’t help that somewhere below us, a construction crew was repairing the pool house. Every few minutes, a hammer hit, or a dril...l or saw roared to life, making me cringe.
“Are you all right, Missy?”
My mom’s question irritated me. Everyone and his dog knew I hated being called Missy. I’d rejected the nickname when I was five years old, but now and then, she used it anyway. Like rubbing salt in a nickname-shaped wound.
“Missy?”
“I’m fine, Mom,” I snapped. “Cut me some slack. I’ve been sick.”MoreLess
“Are you all right, Missy?”
My mom’s question irritated me. Everyone and his dog knew I hated being called Missy. I’d rejected the nickname when I was five years old, but now and then, she used it anyway. Like rubbing salt in a nickname-shaped wound.
“Missy?”
“I’m fine, Mom,” I snapped. “Cut me some slack. I’ve been sick.”MoreLess
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