Not a Kleptomaniac
The concept of fancy dresses
made me nervous.
“Not really,” I said.
“You’re right,” said Liz.
“Pink’s not your color.”
She stuffed the pictures back
in her purse, and sauntered down
the hall like it was her house
and not mine.
She immediately spotted my room
and opened the door.
Her instant appraisal bothered me.
“Hm,” she said, “for some reason,
I thought you’d have a ton of papers
lying around. To be honest, I thought
you were one of those
kleptomaniac people or something.”
If she was looking for the archives,
did she really think I’d just leave them