"I'm going out, Paula," I remarked after dinner. Spaghetti bolognese, a favorite, with a side dish of unwelcome questions - not a favorite. I had a lot to be doing.
For one I was going to shower again with my nice fragrant bath gels, and I was going to change into something better than this drab jumper and leggings combination, and I had to clean my white shoes up because from the constant use they were wearing out quicker than expected. I didn't normally use the same shoes so many days running. Once upon a time my collection had taken up half a wall.
But that's why I was swallowing down my battered, bruised pride and meeting up with Lolo after what happened last year. He had cash. I didn't. He had access to things. I didn't.