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So why are they always so damn happy? Never without a grin, always giving an enthusiastic wave and a “how do ya do” no matter what time of the day...and no matter what day of the week. Life consistently gives them the shaft and yet they carry on like every day is the best damn day of their life. What’s their secret? Is it a loving partner that cares for them? Nope. Is it a newfound religion? Not likely. Is it drugs? No… well, maybe. But it’s also something else, something much more magical. No,. Above and beyond the usual “Yes, ma’am”, “No, ma’am”, “Please”, and “Thank you”, Mom expected me to be an old-fashioned Southern gentleman.For instance, I have never witnessed Mom open a door in her life. If I was present, I was expected to open the door. If I forgot, she simply stood there waiting until I remembered. If I ran around the car and climbed in before her, she simply stood there until I got out, went around, let her in, and apologized. If I barged through the entrance to the mall,. The palm of my hand was now resting on my stomach while the back side of my hand was now touching whatever was on the other side of Dad’s pajama bottoms, I slowly moved around to feel around for any sort of holes, and came up with nothing, the only opening was his waist and there was no way I was going to try and slip my hand inside his pajama bottoms and have him continue to believe that I was still asleep, even if he was asleep himself. I kept trying to feel around the bulge and eventually. He accepted this and was happy to look after the family – he was good at that so she had no concerns about them. The 23rd May was agony for Angie. She was so ready for this. She hoped she wouldn’t flunk it at the last moment; she hoped Clara would be all she desired and had imagined. And then she found herself on the train, little bag packed, heart thumping. She couldn’t keep the grin from her face. The journey passed in a whirl. Arrival in London, taxi to the Dorchester Hotel, checking in.
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