The first was an antique leather-bound journal with a worn strap holding its covers shut, the second was a heavy envelope with my name, Melissa Gordon... written on it in neat (if old-fashioned) cursive hand. The letter inside was typed on expensive heavy-weight paper that had the company watermark in the center of the page. The letter explained that the law firm had been retained by a small, independent museum to find and return the accompanying diary to the nearest living heir of the doner.. The knock on the door sent her racing to answer it."Thomas? Am I glad to see you!" She nearly pulled him off his feet draggin him through the doorway."I'll say...You're naked and answering the door. I bet pizza delivery guys love you." Screw you...I just want to get ready now. I want to practice wearing the full costume, everything." She bounced like a little girl at Christmas, which Thomas watched in obvious enjoyment. "C'mon you pervert, stop ogling and dress me already." Hang on, before you. "You can't let that be your world," I said to myself over and over,watching the taller buildings of the town centre grow larger amidst thesunny Sunday afternoon and hoping, against hope, that the nerves I wasfeeling in my stomach about shopping would soon fade. I'd always hatedshopping - even online shopping - for clothes, mainly because it was sohard to find something in my size, but also because new clothes felt souncomfortable and strange. Still, as I mingled through the crowds andinto Next,. You’re a middle aged divorcee who does a mediocre job in a disappointing career. Aren’t you tired of feeling like you’re nothing special? I can make you feel special.” Oh. My. God. I gripped the edge of the sink and squeezed so hard I thought my knuckles would break. “What makes you think you know anything about me? Or that you can talk that way about me? I’m a financial analyst for the U.S. Treasury, and I’m damn good at my job. You’re a fucking bartender. You probably don’t have a college.