Sunday, June 5, 2016

It (Really) Begins

After shower, getting ready, watching my fogged face in the mirror, the comb comes away clumped with hair, some dark, some silver.

I take the comb into the bedroom where Katie is dressing and, giggling, show it to her. Her face twists in pity, and she says, "How do you feel about that?"

"Give me a few hours, and I'll tell you," I say, still giggling for some reason.

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