The morning following our three o’clock parking lot meet and greet with firemen and law enforcement, Maggie and I again receive a knock on our door. This time the shade is up to let in much needed sunlight. I see a fireman.
He’s checking in, also looking for property management.
I have a lot of hair…Curls are pinned up after curling with a curling iron. Little clips hold curls while I finish my morning routine, ensuring I’m well coiffed until six or eight p.m. I’m also sporting two HUGE Velcro rollers on top. You know, to put the TEX in Texas hair, a little oomph. Seldom do I make new acquaintances while spiffy. This was no exception. I’m a hot mess.
Opening the door I flash a big smile, knowing full well I look ridicules.
Fireman keeps a straight face, true sign of a good man.
Maggie Rose tightly held close to hide my unleashed bosom yet again, I answer a question or two, and ask a question or two, acting as if he caught me looking my very best. You know, faking it.
He’s off to the neighbor’s place, and I’m off to dress for work.
Where is my bra, the one I put in my coat pocket in the rush to get downstairs, as smoke filled another neighbor’s apartment? I chose an undergarment rather than phone, computers, and iPad.
Priorities.
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