I look like my mom. Strangers have approached me before to ask if I am her daughter. I am taller than she is, and have someone else’s hands, but I am often told that I am the spitting image of her. She is chicer than I am. She wears bright colors and complicated shoes. I don’t pluck my eyebrows or wear makeup, but she always wears lipstick, unless she’s sad, and her brows are always groomed.
