FringeKid and I sat snuggled on the couch watching one of those home makeover shows while she held her hand above her head to stem the flow of blood. Somehow she managed to slam her finger in her brother’s door and tore a chunk flesh off.
Sorry, too much information for the weak of heart or stomach.
A young woman and her boyfriend were featured on this makeover show and FringeKid marveled at this woman’s youth.
“She must be in her 20’s.” A convinced FringeKid declared.
When I asked her why, she told me that “if she was in her 30’s, she’d have wrinkles.”
Wrinkles at 30! Attempting to disprove her wrinkle/age theory, I had a momentary lapse of sanity and admitted that I was in my 30’s.
“I don’t have wrinkles and I’m in my 30’s!” Insisted I.
“Well, you know your mouth? You have those little lines….”
She droned on; however, I saw nothing. My crushed spirit melted into a puddle as I stood before the bathroom mirror looking for lines.
“I love you anyway.” She comforted in a way only a child can.
First they stomp on your self-esteem while writing your epitaph; then they assure their unconditional love.
The Wash Woman Who Couldn’t Iron Out Her Wrinkles