Shug write she got a big surprise, and she intends to bring it home for Christmas. What it is? us wonder.
Mr. thinks it is a car for him. Shug making big money now, dressing in furs all the time. Silk and satin too, and hats made out of gold.
Christmas morning we hear this motor outside the door. We lookout. Hot Diggity dog, say Mr. throwing on his pants.
He rushes to the door. I stand in front of the glass trying to make something out of my hair. It is too short to belong, too long to be short. Too nappy to be kinky, too kinky to be nappy. No set color to it either. I give up and tie on a head rag.
I hear Shug cry, Oh, Albert. He says, Shug. I know they hugging. Then I don’t hear anything.
I run out the door. Shug, I say, and put out my arms. But before I know anything a skinny big footman wearing red suspenders is all up in my face. Fore I can wonder whose dog he is, he hugging me.
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