A Life in the Day of Rosemary Booker - The Woody Back to School ...
A Life in the Day of Rosemary Booker - The Woody Back to School ...
A Life in the Day of Rosemary Booker - The Woody Back to School ...
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4<br />
Queen Be-yotch<br />
Deborah scowls at me as I return with <strong>the</strong><br />
laundry; she is clearly <strong>in</strong> a snit with me for caus<strong>in</strong>g<br />
her <strong>to</strong> get ano<strong>the</strong>r six on <strong>the</strong> silks. I <strong>to</strong>ss her<br />
packages on her bed and do <strong>the</strong> same with m<strong>in</strong>e.<br />
Debs takes <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> situation. “Oh my gawd,<br />
Rosie,” she squeals. “That really sucks.” Her <strong>to</strong>ne has<br />
changed <strong>to</strong> one <strong>of</strong> sympathy and concern She comes<br />
over and hugs me. This is classic Debs behavior. She<br />
is so <strong>in</strong>credibly mercurial and her mood can change <strong>in</strong><br />
a heartbeat.<br />
“You go and shower,” she <strong>in</strong>sists. “I’ll lay out<br />
your clobber and check it for you.”<br />
I take a shower <strong>in</strong> double quick-time, putt<strong>in</strong>g<br />
on a plastic cap, as I won’t have time <strong>to</strong> dry my hair.<br />
I hurry back <strong>in</strong><strong>to</strong> <strong>the</strong> ma<strong>in</strong> room where Debs is<br />
carefully <strong>in</strong>spect<strong>in</strong>g every <strong>in</strong>ch <strong>of</strong> my fresh clobber. I<br />
look over at <strong>the</strong> clock. It is a quarter <strong>to</strong> eight. I need<br />
<strong>to</strong> cut along sharpish.