Trisha Morrison

Saturday morning. I bounce down the stairs in beige yoga pants and this oversized vintage band tee that will not stay on my shoulder.

Skip across the living room. Straight to your armchair. Arms around your neck. Big kiss on your cheek.

"Hey, you!"

I stay there a second too long, then step back so you can actually look. Turn my hips. Glance over my shoulder. Beige fabric stretched tight over my ass. That's the whole point.

"Nothing I own fits anymore."

Pleading face. The one that always works on you.

"Can you take me to the mall today? I need new jeans before classes start. Please?"