So much so that I did not hear her get back and wasengrossed in pulling out all the stops and treating her to a properdinner when Robbie burst back in...to the kitchen. She was wearing a hugegrin and chortling about how much she loved her new Harley!"Hey Sarah!" she said dropping the Harley's pannier liners and sweepingme into a hug. "You look pretty enough to eat!" With a giddy laugh shepicked me up and swung me round, saying, "I still cannot believe thatyou are willing to be my girl."Her obvious. Her makeup was clean and her hair was neat. "You eating?" mom asked bluntly. "No," Lori replied in an emotionless tone. She glanced at me for a second. She threw me a sharp look.. not quite angry, but cold enough to make me uncomfortable. Her body turned and she walked down the hall to the bathroom. Two seconds later the water was running. "Damn girl," my mom blurted. My mom's relationship with Lori had been poor since my dad died. They never spoke, and when they did it was an argument. Mom. I tried to look outraged. "What?! You mean that evil woman slipped me a ringer?!" My mother wouldn't do that," she said firmly. "She doesn't care enough to go to the effort of finding another pair of skates like mine," she said. "I just TOLD you, Bob, I like honesty in a man. If you're not going to be honest with me, then you're wasting my time." There was disappointment in her eyes, and that was what made me feel like Zippo's nonexistent chili was about to come back up any second."Oh." What. You take one packet of coffee, a couple hot cocoa packets. Mix ’em together in hot water. Then, add a couple atomic fireballs, and roll them around like the marble in a spray-paint can. I’ve also learned, at the window in the room halfway down that horror-movie hallway, that in order to get enough of what you want or need, you have to barter. Prison commissary only allows so much per section. Ten-ish snacks. 20-ish drink mixes per week. Get ten coffee, then you don’t have enough hot cocoa to.