As a small boy I invaded the nightgown section of a full-size department store in Hollywood searching for my first “real” Mother’s Day present.
I wanted to bestow on my mother a bathrobe as her robe was worn out. I told the sales clerk what I wanted, but I didn’t know what size my mother was. The clerk asked if my mom was short or tall, fat or skinny. “She is just perfect,” I responded. On Mother’s Day, my mom beamed in her new bathrobe, as its extra length swept the floor behind her. So to you, Mom, and to the rest of the women reading this letter, Happy Mother’s Day 2001. Remember, dear Malibuite, that the hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world.
Tom Fakehany