“So, where were you when this photo was taken, Granny?”
Marilyn wrestles with her conscience, but only for a moment – wrestling is so unfeminine after all.
“I was behind the camera!” she claims breezily, waving her perfectly painted nails in the air above the black and white photo.
Marilyn glances down at her granddaughter’s questioning face, but all she sees is the French maid outfit, the black satin sheets, the red silk scarf draped artfully over the bedside lampshade and the captain’s uniform lying at the foot of the bed.
“Oh, I was definitely in uniform too, darling girl, without a doubt!”