"I don't have anything to wear," I told my mom.

 

"How about this?" She held up a long summery skirt.

 

"It's so flowery."

 

"This?"

 

Ugh. "Nothing with sequins!"

 

My mom set her fugly club attire down on the bed. "I'm sure this girl will like you no matter what you're wearing." Shaking her head, she went on, "I keep saying 'this girl.' What's her name, Evie?"

 

Blank slide. No disk. Please insert video. "Chaucer Girl?"

 

"Evelina!" I got the gruff mom-voice for that. "Ask what her name is before you..." Mom started up with a penis-in-vagina hand motion, running two straight fingers through two in a circle. When she realized that gesture wasn't the most relevant, she said, "Oh, wait, that's wrong." She waggled her tongue through a V in her fingers.

 

"Ew, Mom, don't be disgusting!" I threw my hopeless self into my mother's closet and came face-to-face with the perfect skirt.

 

"Yeah, Chaucer Girl, just like that!" my mom teased.

 

"This is it!" I cried, tearing the army green skirt from the rack. "Will you stop? You're grossing me out!"

 

"So-o-o-rry," Mom chuckled. "I'm sure you're just meeting up for a midnight poetry reading. Grab a jacket on your way out; it's getting chilly. And make sure to find out this girl's name before you do the nasty!"