FWB
I had explained to him while he hugged me.
It had become a private joke between us, and I went out of my way to find ornaments for him. Our Junior year had been, of course, a French hen. I had gotten one of those tiny hen lawn decorations and had spent hours painting it with the French flag. I under-estimated how long it would take me, and it didn’t help that I accidentally used oil paints instead of acrylic. I had shown up at his house on Christmas day with paint staining my skin. The week of scrubbing furiously under my nails to get rid of the red, white and blue was worth the startled laugh that burst out of him when he saw me.
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