She grinned widely and navigated through her obstacle course of stuff in her Fifth Avenue apartment.
“Oh, this is perfect. I can’t wait. I kept all of this so that I could hand it down. It will be just perfect for you!”
I waited in the entryway. My boyfriend fidgeted. His mother reappeared with a plastic bag that smelled of moth balls.
“See, this was for my yoga class. And this outfit I wore on the treadmill. And this—this is my favorite! Try this on. It has no stretch, so it may not fit. But if it does, it’s yours.”