Thick and fuzzy, the red wool slipped off the needles. This yarn was a bad choice, Leslie thought. It was just so gorgeous. Her dress shop phone rang but she kept knitting. With a tattoo hand, she tapped her screen to listen to her voicemail.

“I know you’re sitting there like a shriveled raisin laughing at this situation. You do not know who the fuck you’re dealing with?”

The needles clicked in a soothing rhythm. The business line rang again. Leslie’s doctor had been concerned about her blood pressure and recommended she take up some stress busting habits. Leslie tried hot yoga and meditation but she couldn’t turn her mind off. She examined the neat row of red loops.

“My daughter chose that prom dress back in December. Yeah we didn’t buy then but I want it for her now. I don’t care about some fat nobody who bought it yesterday. She wants that dress, just that dress. Are you denying my daughter her special day out of jealousy? Get it back,” the angry voice on her voicemail said.

Carefully counting stitches, Leslie leaned back. The dress shop was quiet, so quiet after the President’s Day sales. Ring, ring, the phone went off again. Soon Patty and Filomena would be in for re-stocking. Soon mothers would be trailing in for dyed to match heels and decorative clutches.

“You are just sitting there, aren’t you? With your feet up drinking a damn latte. You don’t know what it is like to have a kid and want what’s best for them. Don’t you understand the high school approves dresses? No duplicate gowns allowed. My daughter is head cheerleader. She’s popular very popular not like that little nobody that bought her dress. I won’t have my baby disappointed. Do you hear me!”

Squinting Leslie tried to remember this particularly angry mother and her daughter. She had a vague memory of affluent blondness and great teeth. In the pretty girl business, faces get blurry and the threats, commonplace. Humming she continued knitting concentrating on another row.