“Gloria, do you think my hair clashes with my shirt?” She eyed me carefully from across the table in the new coffee house we were checking out.
“Well, maybe a little. Your shirt is pastel pink and your hair is Georgia-clay orange today. That’s not usually a good color pairing.”
I sighed. “That’s what I thought. The hot-pink lipstick has to go, too.”
Gloria nodded. “Probably. But you know it doesn’t really matter. It’s who you are on the inside that counts, not on the outside.”
I rolled my eyes, teenager style. “Puh-lease. That’s what people always say when they don’t want to tell you that you’re dressed like a clown.”
“Are you implying that I have big feet, Cinderella?” Gloria’s dainty feet definitely would have fit into those stupid glass slippers.
“And your nose is a red ball,” she said as I sneezed for the 15th time.
“I have a cold,” I whined.
“Don’t worry about it, girl. Maybe there’s a job opening at Barnum & Bailey’s for someone with your particular talents.”
“That’s really amusing, Gloria.” I stuck my tongue out at her.
“Or you could consider that it really is what’s on the inside that matters. You’re a good, caring person and I value your friendship. Stop worrying about your hair clashing with your shirt.”
I started to cry, adding red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks to the overall appearance. I blew my nose loudly. “I love you, Gloria.”
“I love you, too. No, don't hug me. That cold looks nasty and it's making you all weepy and silly.”
I nodded in agreement. “No sharing of the cold. Got it.”