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the door with my pocketbook. It was only later that I realized I didn’t put on a stitch of makeup. Not even lipstick. I hadn’t taken the trash out without throwing on a little lipstick in fifty years. My head was everywhere, I was so mixed up.
    Now, for some reason, I don’t know why, everyone on thestreet was staring at me as I ran the five blocks to the bakery. Maybe it was the panicked look on my face. Maybe I didn’t look as good as I thought without makeup, even if I looked twenty-nine. Okay, so my pants were too big. I’ve seen worse things on the street than that. And it was around the third block that I noticed I was still running without being out of breath. I felt amazing, free; I wanted to keep running past the bakery, it felt so good.
    But I couldn’t. I couldn’t enjoy this, not even for one day. I had to get back to my old body. Barbara, I reminded myself, think of Barbara .
    “Three birthday cakes, please!” I shouted, maybe a little too loud, as I opened the door of the bakery. There was only one other customer besides me, a nice-looking thirty-something man in a suit. I immediately noticed his blue eyes. I have a thing about blue eyes, I guess because everyone in my family has brown ones. I once got blue-colored contacts, but they made my eyes look scary, so I stuck them in a drawer and never wore them again.
    “I’m so sorry,” I said to him. “I didn’t mean to take my turn in front of yours.”
    “Oh, no,” Blue Eyes said, presenting the bakery to me with a sweeping motion of his arm. “Please, anything for a pretty lady.”
    Who was he talking about?
    “Well, thank you, young man.”
    “Young man?” Blue Eyes laughed. “I think I’m a little older than you.”
    “Of course you are,” I laughed, throwing my head back. “But no, please, take your turn. I’m sure you’re in a hurry.”
    “Not at all, please. Beauty before age.”
    I have to admit I was sort of speechless.
    “Well,” I said, straightening my hair, “thank you.” I smiled, walking in front of him.
    “Three birthday cakes, with every candle you have in the store,” I ordered with intensity, remembering what I was there for.
    I left the store with three large boxes of cake in my hands. Yesterday it might have been agonizing to carry those big heavy things through the city streets, but today it didn’t feel that way at all. I might as well have been holding bubbles in my hands from the adrenaline I was feeling over that compliment. And from such a handsome boy! Sure, it was just a tiny thing, but a tiny thing I hadn’t experienced in more than thirty years.
    Okay, maybe I would just have a little fun. I mean, I was going back with the cakes, anyway. Maybe I would just pop into a store and try on some clothes with my new figure. What could be the harm? And as I stopped in front of the window of Plage Tahiti on Seventeenth Street, I saw a cosmic sign. There, right in the window between the mint cashmere sweater and the halter top with the white slacks, was Lucy’s Ellie Jerome dress.
    “Can I help you with anything?” the kind, blond-haired woman behind the counter asked as I set the cakes down.
    “Yes, actually. I was just walking by your shop and I noticed that very pretty dress in the window. It’s gorgeous!”
    “That’s by a Philadelphia designer, Lucy Jerome.”
    I just couldn’t keep back my excitement. It was killing me not to tell her. No one could blame me for being proud, could they?
    “I know! She’s my granddaughter!” I exclaimed.
    “What?” The woman looked at me cockeyed.
    “Oh, she’s my cousin. Did I say granddaughter?” I tried tolaugh. “I got confused because she actually named the dress after her grandmother . . . my grandmother, too,” I stammered. I’ve always been the worst liar.
    “Oh, sure. You look just like both of them. You’ve all got such hot bodies. Your grandmother is such a pretty lady; she’s so regal-looking. I see her in the park sometimes. I always