Franny Granny liked herself just fine. She stood on her crooked porch in her short green dress. Plastic daisies bounced in her gray hair. She thought the whole town would be happier if folks fussed less and smiled more. But her neighbor did not agree. Agnes came up the walk in a pressed cream blouse. Every hair sat in place. She carried a small bag with a bow on it. "Franny, dear," Agnes said. She smiled the way she always did before this. "I brought you a lipstick. A soft rose. It would do wonders." This was the fourth time. Last week it was a hairbrush. Before that, a scarf to hide the daisies. Agnes always meant well. That was the trouble. Franny could never find the words to say no. "Oh," Franny said. "That's so kind." She always said that. Then she took the gift and hated herself a little. Agnes stepped closer. She reached toward a plastic daisy. "We could just tuck these away. Only for special days." Franny felt her cheeks go hot. She wanted to shout that she liked the daisies. She wore them because they made her grin. But the polite words jammed in her throat, like always. Then she saw the bouquet on her rail. It was plastic too, bright and loud. Reds and blues and yellows in a tidy spray. She had bought it because it made her think of summer. Agnes had eyed it every visit with a small frown. Franny picked it up. Her hands were not quite steady. "Agnes," she said. "I want you to have these." Agnes blinked. "The plastic ones?" "Yes." Franny pressed the bouquet into Agnes's clean hands. "Because you like to fix things up. So here. Fix these up however you please. Put them anywhere you want." Agnes stared at the crisp petals. She did not know where to look. "But I don't need a makeover," Franny went on. Her voice came out plain and firm. "I like my dress. I like my daisies. I'm not changing them for anybody." The porch went quiet. A car passed on the road below. Agnes held the bouquet at arm's length. Her frown deepened. "Franny, these are... not to my taste." "I know," Franny said. She almost laughed. "That's the point. My taste is mine. Yours is yours." Agnes set the bouquet on the rail like it might stain her. She tucked the lipstick bag back in her purse. "I see," she said. Her voice had gone cool. "I won't trouble you again, then." She turned and walked back down the walk. Her heels clicked hard on the stone. Franny watched her go. The daisies still bounced in her hair. She had finally said the words. It felt good and it felt wrong all at once. Agnes had never left her porch angry before. Now she had, and the whole street would surely hear about it.