"I'm pretty sure my chef skills will speak for me. People won't care if my hair is a simple ponytail or if my outfit is simple as long as my food is good," I said, trying not to sound confrontational.
Biting my tongue, I looked down at my meal as the two women exchanged glances.
Goldie cleared her throat, and I was expecting another barb about my hair or clothes. Instead, she asked, "You are now working as a pastry chef?"
"Yes, ma'am," I replied.
"How long have you been doing that?" she inquired.
"Formally, since I was sixteen and legally able to work."
"I'm sure it's not a high-paying job," she said, her manicured fingers tapping against her glass.
"It pays enough," I returned.
"Why didn't you go to college and get a degree like Daisy did so you could get a good-paying job?" she a
