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moisturizer anyway.”
    “Are you wearing that?” Sophie eyes me doubtfully. 
    “Don’t push it,” I raise an eyebrow. She rolls her eyes before ducking out and I finish getting ready by pulling my hair into a low ponytail and sliding on some lip-gloss.  I don’t have anyone to impress today, right?  I can wear what I want to, even if it is a public mall. 
    If I’m going to be spending god only knows how much money on my daughter’s endless wardrobe needs, I deserve to wear my favorite sweatshirt. 
     
    ********
     
    I regret the sweatshirt within two hours of putting it on. 
    Being wrapped up in the afterglow of great sex with someone twenty years younger than me, I had neglected to remember that it is Las Vegas in springtime.  I don’t need a sweatshirt.  In fact, if I could walk around naked without going to jail for public indecency, I very well might.
    But as it is, I am sweaty and grumpy as Sophie and I pile our purchases (all $793 dollars worth) in the trunk of my black Audi.  To be fair, $234 dollars was used on me.  The rest though, was Sophie. 
    “Thanks for the stuff, Mom,” she says to me brightly before she sticks her ear-buds into her ears and forgets that I exist.
    Seriously.  The little snot actually turns toward the window and stares out, oblivious to my presence now that I have financed her little clothing habit. I shake my head.  There are times, like right now, when I can totally understand why hamsters eat their young.
    “You’re welcome,” I mutter as I push my stupid long sleeves up for the millioneth time and shove my over-heated face in front of the air-conditioning for a minute, in hopes of bringing my tomato-red cheeks down to a nice neutral shade of tan. Or at the very most, a becoming blush. 
    I glance down at the clock as I turn up the radio.  It’s only 1:30.  We still have time for lunch before we need to be home for Rick to pick Sophie up.
    I click the car into Reverse and am backing out just as a voice registers in my head.
    “Yoo-hoo!  Allison!  Is that you?”
    And then there’s a sickening thud.
    Hand to God- I didn’t have time to react between hearing the voice and the sickening thud.
    Sophie’s eyes fly to meet mine and I slam on the brakes, throw the car into park and we jump out of the car to find a nauseatingly thin crumpled heap directly behind my left back tire.
    And I say nauseatingly thin because I know exactly who it is.  I can tell from her cheap sense of style and the giant rock on her left spidery ring finger. 
    It’s Rick’s new fiancée, Vanessa.
    And she’s nauseatingly thin. 
    Except for her fake boobs, which Rick bought and paid for and can be used as flotation devices in the unlikely event of a plane crash.  Apparently though, they don’t work very well in the more likely event of an automobile vs. pedestrian crash.
    I gasp as I drop to my knees beside her.
    “Vanessa!  Oh my god!  Are you alright!  Can you hear me?!”
    She moans and turns to look at me, whimpering pitifully.
    “Do you hate me this much, Allison? Really?”
    I stare at her, at her perfect baby blue eyes, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows, her Barbie-like twenty-three year old perfect body and her full, pouty candy-apple-pink lips. Yes, yes, I hate her.  But she’s not worth going to jail for.  Even though I might have fantasized about it a few times.  I’m not gonna lie.
    “I didn’t see you, Vanessa,” I sigh.  “Why were you behind my car?”
    “Why didn’t you watch where you were going?” she snaps as she studies a candy-apple-pink fingernail.  Her polish perfectly matches her lips.  “I just had my nails done and this one is broken.  Thanks a lot.”
    I sigh again, offering her my hand.
    “Are you hurt?”  I ask.  Sophie is hovering over my shoulder.  She has yanked her ear-buds out for this bit of excitement.  Vanessa shakes her head. 
    “I don’t think so.  Except for my nail.  You’re paying to get it fixed, Allison!”