Wiping her hands on her discarded tank top, she picked up the cell. “Just a minute,” she replied. She put the phone down. Froze. A minute? She needed an hour! A shower, make up, her hair done. “God help me,” she whispered. Jumping out of bed, she threw her pajamas in the hamper. Made sure to pull on matching bra and underwear. Jeans that hugged her ass. A tight, sleeveless black top. She pulled her blonde hair into a ponytail looked into the mirror. There wasn’t time for make up. It was a shame. She hadn’t seen Melinda in weeks and now she had to see her like this. She sighed and headed down the stairs. Opened the front door. Dressed simply in a plaid button down shirt and jeans, her ex was beautiful. Dark, olive skin. A cute little dent in her chin. Bright hazel eyes. Long legs. Everything about her was posh Olympian beauty, the picture of youth, exuberance, and heart. Melinda met her eyes. Her pale pink lips turned up slowly. “Hey Sarie.” “Hi.” She hung on to the doorknob. It would never be more than half an hour before all of the "littlies"--those of us under six--would shed our clothes, innocently cavorting naked around the beach, wearing only soggy Keds to protect our feet from the pebbles, shrieking and laughing as we scampered from cold water's edge to sunwarmed rocks.We girls would point, giggling, at our boy cousins as they emerged naked from the water, their tiny penises and testicles shrunken by the cold. They would shrug off our ridicule and we would tire of the game, preferring to gather the little snails called periwinkles from the slick rocks.Soon lunch would emerge from huge rattan baskets: overstuffed peanut butter sandwiches dripping with my grandmother's blueberry jam, green apples from the tree behind the boathouse, and raspberry Kool-Aid laden with white sugar. We would protest though chattering teeth that we weren't cold at ALL--did we REALLY have to get dressed again? After lunch we would lie prone on our towels, feeling the.
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