The list went on and on. She sighed, and pushed up the sleeves of her large grey sweatshirt. And then she got to work.
A dinner party. Why on earth would her mom throw a dinner party? The neighbors had long since stopped calling, and she hadn’t seen of heard tale of her mom with a friend in at least six months. So why all of a sudden? Was her life really that screwed up that she’d soon have to be sitting around a too small table with a bunch of strangers, eating over or undercooked meat and drinking club soda, trying in vain to find a topic that they would then discuss awkwardly, petering out into silence, then rinse and repeat?
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