You can’t go out tonight, Mamma says.
The wind howls and shrieks and tears at the house. I pretend I’m in a pirate ship.
The wind howls and shrieks and tears at the house. The milk in my bowl of cereal ripples as the house shakes. I pretend I’m in a pirate ship.
“You can’t go out tonight,” Mamma A says. She paces from the refrigerator to the hall closet to the cupboard.
“I’ve drove through worse. I’ll take the truck,” Mamma B says. She wears her yellow dress and shoes. She reminds me of sunshine.
“Please don’t go out tonight. Stay here with us; we’ll have a family night.” Mamma A has her arms around Mamma B’s neck and gives her a little kiss.
I put my hand over my eye and pretend I have an eye-patch. Our ship groans.
“You know I have to go. I have obligations. The other mothers will be expecting me. Besides, I made brownies for the meeting.”
“Call in sick; call in and tell them the storm’s too bad; it is.”
I use my spoon as a hook. Mamma B goes to the closet and gets her p…