Okay, I want to see more drabbles posted to the archives, so I'm adding my paltry contribution.
We're... sort of close to ten now, aren't we? It took me a while, but all of a sudden I got an idea to go with "best."
Clark watched in a sort of horrified resignation as his mother disappeared into her sewing room. This time she had spoken in that mom tone, the one that brooked absolutely no argument. He peeked inside. His mom was buried under red fabric, hemming and turning the fire engine red material into a vaguely cape-like shape.
“Um… Mom, you know I love you. And the costume is great. But… is the cape absolutely necessary?”
Martha looked up from her sewing, annoyed at the interruption. “Of course it is, Clark.”
Clark accepted defeat. How could he argue? His mother always knew best.
