I wrapped a towel around my hips and hustled to my room. I donned clean shorts, t-shirt and socks. Put on a white shirt, set a tie aside, then looked for my blue suit. There was no blue suit. “Mom!” I yelled, “Where’s my suit?”

“Look in your closet,” she answered.

“I did!” I yelled, “it’s not here.”

“Oh, for goodness…” she said, entering my room.

She reached into the closet and withdrew a white flannel suit. “See, right where I told you it was,” she said.

“Mom, is this a joke? Where’s my blue suit?”
Mom cocked her head, raised an eyebrow, and said, “This is the only suit you have. What’s wrong with you?”

It was then I looked around, really looked around. Everything in my room was different. There were lacy curtains on the windows, none of my posters were on the walls, the clock radio was as big as a small suitcase. There was even a doily on my dresser. “Mom, what’s going on?” I asked.

“What do you mean, dear?”

I waved my arm around the room, “All this.”

“You kids,” she said.