Miss Amy is skinny as a rail but still looks like a girl, just like the late Miss Hepburn. All day long, she eats peanut butter and crackers and bon-bons and cookies and candy bars and anything else sweet she can get her sticky paws on. She drinks FARM milk, the thick gluey kind with the solid crust of milk fat on top. She'll drink it straight from the bottle, getting gooey little curds all around her mouth. She's a Southern vegetarian with a weakness for chicken fried steak.

I would like to secretly hope that one day Amy will get big and fat, but it's so much fun to watch her eat—she's so cute and unselfconscious and gleeful stuffing her face—that I wouldn't begrudge her eternal thinness.

Amy was one of those work friends that you immediately bond with. The kind you tell secrets to when you barely know them because it's anonymous and soothing and safe. But she ended up being a real friend, too, one I wish I already knew better but know I'll stay in touch with.

Amy is a very metropolitan girl. She loves cities. But like our friend from Breakfast at Tiffany's, Amy wasn't always the classy dame she is now. . . .