Professional

We’re walking back to the car, and another car pulls along side us and the two girls in it lean over and ask her if she’s who she is.  “Are you really?” they ask.  She says, yes, she is who she is.  The girls in the car both oh-my-god at the same time and then look at me and tell her she’s their favorite. 

Later, at home, I ask her if she gets tired of that, being recognized everywhere.  She says not really because, “It isn’t when they stop asking that’s the problem.”  She says, “I don’t want to die not being loved.”