Did you get that ugly skirt?

Mom and I never agreed on clothes. In most other ways I was basically, "Momma's little miniature." But when it came to clothes or decorating the house, we disagreed on everything. She was all dusty rose and country blue. I was all brown and forest green and burgandy.

So on my first Christmas in Senegal, I opened up my package from Mom. One of the presents in it was this gorgeous rayon broomstick skirt, which was all the rage among American expats in Dakar who were trying to stay covered to their ankles so as not to offend the locals, yet keep from melting in the intense tropical sun. The skirt was long and black with a few deep red flowers on the bottom hem and a drawstring with a tiny bell on the end. I loved it.

Then I called Mom at the appointed hour and the call went just like this, the same as every week:

"Hi, Mom. It's me. Call me back."

"Hi, Punkin Head. How are you? Did you get your package?"

"Yes, I did. Now call me back."

"Okay. I miss you so much. I wish you were here."

"Me, too, Mom. I've just spent $18 on this call please call me BACK!"

"Oh, right. Okay, okay."

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"Did you get that ugly skirt?"

"Yes, I did and I LOVE it!"

"I knew you would. I just picked the ugliest one I could find."