Marie

It's not a real puppy; I know that. But it's a French Poodle! She is looking right at me, too, and smiling like she has a joke to tell. There are tiny sparkly jewels on her pink collar and a pink bow on the top of her head. I love her!

Mrs. Benyon always gives me the nicest things! She says it's because she never had a little girl and while that is kind of sad, I am glad; then I get the nice things! She says I am "her little girl," because she babysits me while Mom works. She comes to the church to get me from kindergarten every day and then we walk to her house because she doesn't drive.

I love Mrs. Benyon, and not just because she buys me things. Sometimes we walk right past her house and go straight to the park where she pushes me on the swing. I have never been to the park with my mom but I'm pretty sure she wouldn't push me on the swing.

As I twist the white curls on the French Poodle's ears, I try to think of a name for her. Like lightening it comes to me - Marie! It sounds very French and it is also Mrs. Benyon's first name! That is perfect!

I pull the blue skirt on over my dress. The button on the waistband is big so I can thread it through the buttonhole by myself. Then I need to turn the skirt so that Marie, the French Poodle, is right on the front.

I look in the mirror and see Marie looking back at me. This skirt is so pretty! The fabric is sort of stiff, so this will be a good "twirling" skirt, even though I don't have enough room in my bedroom to twirl it now. The blue of the fabric is what I think the ocean must look like. It's not the Navy blue of my Dad's uniform, or the pale blue of the robins' eggs I sometimes find, or the green-blue of my Rosary beads, but the exact color of the glass candy bowl at Grandma's house. Blue.

Time for a fashion show! Even though the top of my plaid dress is showing, I can show off the skirt by using my hands like on television. I practice, running my right hand over the poodle and then turning my hand over like on the commercial when they show how smooth Dove makes your skin. No one will look at my plaid dress top if my hands are doing all that!

To add to the "look," I put on a string of pop beads I made. The top half of me looks like Mrs. Eisenhower; the botton half looks like Annette! But it will do.

I am giggling as I walk downstairs, thinking of how fun this will be! I find my folks in the kitchen where Dad sits at the table. He sees me first and smiles when I twirl. Mom is at the kitchen sink so she hasn't seen me yet so I say, "Mom, look!"

She looks, but before I can twirl, she says, "I told you not to wear that!"

"I am just trying it on to see it twirl. Watch!" I say, but then her wet hands grip my shoulders so I cannot twirl. I see Dad looking down, like he is reading, but there is no paper there.

"Take that off right now! I told you! You cannot wear blue. You have brown eyes! The only brown-eyed girls who wear blue are Italians or sluts."

She's a little rough unbuttoning the skirt so I back away and say I can take it off. Away from the kitchen, away from Mom, I slide the skirt off and take it back upstairs to my room.

I don't get the thing about the color blue. Mom wears blue but then she has blue eyes. I wish I had blue eyes so I could wear blue. I know we are Irish and Mom hates Italians, but this is a French Poodle. I don't know what sluts are.