She comes in the front door with a stupid smile on her face. There's a skip to her step.

"I got a date."

"No! Who with?"

"That guy. The cute one I told you about."

"When?"

"Tonight."

"Where are you going?"

"Don't know. He'll pick me up in an hour."

"What are you gonna wear?"

She shrugs and we walk into her bedroom. The closet is as orderly as she is. It's been a long time since she's had a date and I'm thrilled for her.

Her closet tells me who she is. She's smart but simple; subtle, not flashy; stylish and sophistocated. She likes solid colors that are deep and rich in color. She likes clean lines and elegant styling. I've always been proud to stand next to her.

We sift and sort.

"The red one?"

"Too sexy."

"Blue?"

"Too formal."

"Green?"

"Nope."

"Black?"

"That's it. Black makes me look thinner."

I leave her to dress and smile to myself. She's pretty and witty with a beautiful sense of humor. She'll spend the evening making sure he's comfortable. That's her style.

There's a knock on the door and, before I know it, she's heading down the front sidewalk, hand in hand, with the smiling guy.

"Have fun, Grandma." I call from the open door.