" Looking round inside, Mom made a beeline for the dress racks, pulling some down off their hangers and holding them against me. "There" she said "I...n't that just you?" "How would I know, mom?" I replied sourly. "I'm not sure just who I am anymore." She just gave me that look that said, 'I know what's best for you,' and gave me the black cocktail dress with its thin spaghetti straps and ruffles and told me to go try it on. I looked around for the changing rooms, and as I started to walk. Slowly, and with teasing pauses, I recount my imaginings. Over time the tale has grown longer, new details have been added, but the general outline remains the same.]The story always starts at the point where I say to Ty and Monique, ‘Can I make a suggestion?’ When I go on to explain what i have in mind there is a long pause. Have I gone too far, misjudged my colleagues? If so, how will I ever recover? The silence is broken by Monique. Nothing in her expression reveals her reaction. She simply. More

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