Millie handed the last glass to May to dry, then began on the silverware. ("Flatware," a voice in her mind said, "it's flatware, not silver.")
"Whoa," Millie said. She wondered for a moment if she were having a psychic moment. But--no, it was just something she knew somehow had been said to her. Repeatedly, she suspected.
"What?" May asked.
"...nothing," Millie said. She didn't really want to admit that she felt like she'd been momentarily possessed by somebody really uptight about the difference between silverware and flatware.
Embarrassed, Millie turned her attention on the black woman standing not far away ruthlessly beating a bowlful of batter and muttering to herself. "And you! Who pissed in your Cheerios this morning?"
[George/"Millie"]
"Whoa," Millie said. She wondered for a moment if she were having a psychic moment. But--no, it was just something she knew somehow had been said to her. Repeatedly, she suspected.
"What?" May asked.
"...nothing," Millie said. She didn't really want to admit that she felt like she'd been momentarily possessed by somebody really uptight about the difference between silverware and flatware.
Embarrassed, Millie turned her attention on the black woman standing not far away ruthlessly beating a bowlful of batter and muttering to herself. "And you! Who pissed in your Cheerios this morning?"