Why do I feel pressure to look good for Zeesy? She’s my friend— shouldn’t she be someone I don’t feel any pressure from?
Iroll over and stretch. It’s the first day of summer vacation, and I don’t want to move. I want to lie here all day, cozy and oh so relaxed. The phone rings, breaking the morning stillness. I reach over and pick it up, pretty positive that we Taubs are the only humans left using a house phone.
It’s Debbi. “Get up. Zeesy just landed. She’ll be at my house in an hour and a half and then we’re going.”
“Blah blah blah,” I grouch into the phone. It’s too early for her bossiness.
“Naomi Menucha Taub. Get up.” She hangs up.
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