Age Is Just A Number
We both agreed the machines were better listeners than men, even if it’s not their fault.
One afternoon, while arranging a sterilised kit, Sofia bumped my shoulder. “Look at you,” she said. “Back to normal.”
“I was always normal.”
“You named a mop ‘Sir Cleanington.’”
“He has character,” I scoffed. I don’t need to clean the floor twice for it to be neat, but it’s too weak or too old.
Sofia laughed so hard she had to sit down. And for the first time in a long while, the laugh didn’t hurt.