I do not know what I am doing.
All I know is that I am going to sit in an office somewhere in the city, and allow strangers to take a DNA sample from me, register me, and most likely tell me very little while dangling a world of potential in front of me.
It feels less like an appointment and more like the beginning of a problem.
"You look gorgeous," Jen says from her bed, pulling on a thick walking sock.
I glance down at myself. I am stood in front of the mirror on the front of my wardrobe door.
I rarely wear dresses, but I do own two. This one is navy, soft cotton, fitted at the waist and falls just above my knees. It is modest, with cap sleeves and a V-neck. The matching wedges are not entirely practical, but they are not ridiculous either.
Smart. Respectable. Presentable.
Three
