I was just an up-and-coming local barber before my high school classmate turned professional athlete, Reggie, started coming to get his hair cut by me. He’d brought me a lot of clientele and exposure. If I blasted him for being foul, would the people he sent me still come to me? I wasn’t so sure.

“And Beatrice can’t pick anybody’s husband. Look at the one she picked for herself!” Lo yelled, referring to my father, Dale. “Who is this guy again, anyway?” She asked as if I hadn’t given her the rundown on him a thousand times.

“His name is Carson. He’s a man she met at bingo.”

“Bingo?” she shouted. “He old?”

“No. He was there with his grandma.” I clarified. “Apparently, he’s pretty handsome and has a good job. He’s a sports agent or something. Hence the tickets to the Super Bowl.”

Lo stared at me for a moment. Her mouth opened and closed before she finally broke her silence. My best friend wanted to continue her rant, but she knew that was not what I needed right now.

“Change into the lime green dress I bought you for your birthday. It hugs your curves and flairs in the right places. You’ll be in team colors but won’t look like everybody else, and you can pair it with sneakers.”

“But what about the jersey?” I protested. “I like this.”

“Cut it down the middle and wear it like a cardigan.”

“Cut it!” I grabbed the jersey, shocked by her suggestion.

“Go change, Phileigh,” she demanded as she pointed toward my closet door. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay, okay, I’ll change,” I replied, standing up and disappearing into my closet, leaving her and my phone on the dresser.

I rummaged through the racks until I found the lime green fit-and-flare dress Lo had suggested. The dress was gorgeous but drew too much attention to me and my body. I loved my body, every fat roll and curve, but I hated attention. I quickly undressed and slid the dress over my head and down my curves. I certainly felt better. Exiting the closet, I grabbed the jersey and a pair of scissors. Doing what Lo said, I cut the jersey down the middle, splitting the number twenty-six. I slid it on, and walked over to my dresser until I stood in front of the phone.

“Better?” I asked.

“Okay. Now, that’s my big, beautiful bestie!” Lo exclaimed, her eyes widening in admiration. “You look like one of those NFL wives!”