By Jill Rothenberg
I held the delicate piece of lace tulle between my fingers, the light pink froth of it peeking out between the hot pink of the skirt layered on top. I pulled it off the rack and held it out at arm’s length, considering what kind of top would be perfect: plain white bodysuit or the cream-colored sweater with gold bling at the neck? Would the perfectly coordinated pastel pink fur coat be too much?
I took them from the rack and considered them all, holding each over the skirt in my right hand.
“Jesus Christ, I’ve been looking all over the store for you. Put that stuff down and come on.”
I jumped and turned around, the clothes falling to the floor.
There was my boyfriend, who had caught me red-handed in the little girl’s section of Target.
You would have thought he caught me with porn. Continue Reading…