A fiction exercise: Woman at 50something

My best friend’s plane left three hours late. She brought her daughter’s phone charger. Fortunately I knew this when said daughter called cursing. I made her laugh which isn’t hard as I’ve been making her laugh since infancy.
My best friend sounded like a foghorn. My nose is stuffed. I hope she doesn’t hate me. I know how stupid that sounds. I can’t control what I have no control over.
She arrived. She’s sick. I’m scared to go to sleep as I’m convinced that I won’t be able to breathe

Sami looked at her reflection in the Michael Graves for Target tea kettle that was actually nicer than the Michael Graves megabucks tea kettle she had once owned.

She hoped her reflection was similiar to one in a fun house mirror. She looked obese, gross, the opposite of everything she had once been.

Sami didn’t know why people still liked her. Did she know a city filled with people who had excess grace and dignity and would never kick a woman when she she should be under a doctor’s knife?

Out of the corner of the tea kettle she saw him. He was smiling; that smile that had set her body ablaze so many years ago and still did.

I am fat. I am ugly. Leave me for a younger woman. Somebody who deserves your love.

He took her in his arms and she forgot to hate herself.