Before he walks out, he turns back to me, eyeing me one last time. “Do you think that dress is appropriate for a mom to wear?” My jaw drops—literally drops. “You just said I looked beautiful.” “And you do. When you’re at home or with your husband. I’m just not sure about the kind of message it will send if you’re wearing it to a concert, surrounded by drunken men.” “It’s a charity event, and I don’t care if I show up naked. Nothing I wear should send any message to any man, drunk or not. Have a great night at work,” I sneer, turning my back on him, done with this asinine conversation.
