Forty Two

Isabella

On Friday afternoon, I get into my car and drive to town. I call Rita, reporting in.

"Perfect timing! We're going shopping. I need a new pair of shoes," she says. "Give me an hour to dress up and I will come to pick you up.

"No, I'll come for you. I have something to do on the way."

When I arrive at Rita's, I see her closing the entrance door and stopping, dumbstruck, in front of my car. She points a finger at it, circling the index finger of her other hand above her temple, wide-eyed. As soon as she gets in, she cries,

"Is this a new ride?"

"It surely is," I respond with equal enthusiasm.

"Damn! Who got it for you?"

"Zio," I respond as if it is the most obvious answer.

"Well, I can see him pampering his little princess who just returned from the dead," she responds, sarcastically. I roll my eyes at her.