CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
NOVEMBER 24, 1960
Today was Thanksgiving, and what a day! After coffee and milk toast, I was cleaning up dishes when Ollie asked me to put down the dishcloth, close my eyes, and count to ten before taking a gander at a gift she had made for me. When I opened my eyes, I was visually assaulted by a yellow sweater so bright it nearly singed my corneas.
“Cheerful, huh?” Ollie grinned. “Try it on over your shirt, dear.” Before I could even muster up a defense, Ollie yanked the thing over my head, tugging and pulling so hard my ears would have been bleeding if my blood supply had been able to get past my throat. “Ollie, the neck is too small,” I squeaked.
“Don’t worry, Weed,” she assured me, “the yarn stretches.”
By the time my head popped through the neckline, I was dizzy
