Tag Archives: bad hair day

‘Shoulda worn a better hat,’ says my sister.

‘Yes, thank you,’ I reply, a little testily. ‘Hindsight is twenty-twenty.’

‘Hey, don’t get cranky with me. I did not do this.’ She makes a sweeping gesture with her hand.

Stones as far as the eye can see, big and small. Stone statues, that is.

‘It could have been worse,’ I venture.

‘How precisely?’

I think about it.
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