“Mom, this is a dress, there’s nothing hanging out.” “Your arms and legs are bare for the whole world to see,” she told me, her cheeks flushing in indignation. “Too bad, Mom, you gave up the right to boss me around when I turned eighteen,” I told her, surprised I was sticking up for myself. “Caroline,” my father thundered from the kitchen. “As long as you live in this house, you will follow our rules,” he told me, walking into the living room, where I was getting my shoes on to go meet up with a high school friend. “Dad, I am going to meet Janice. I haven’t seen her in over a year.” “Then listen to your mother, and go change.” “Yes, something more sensible, slacks, blouse, and none of that war-paint like you have on your face. You look like a hussy,” my mom said, softening her words where Daddy could hear. “No, there’s nothing wrong with my makeup and dress,”
