Til Death Do Us Part
Last Saturday, we made cookies in the Tarry shack kitchen, and Greta had to taste test every flavor.
“Look, look….. another fell out.” She proudly holds out her little hand, stretched flat, and shows me the blood-crusted tooth she is beaming over. It's a solid chunk of white enamel, and it’s so typical of her not even washing it. I grimace inwardly but hide it well.
“Wow…. it’s a big one.” I avoid touching it and pretend to admire it from all angles. “You did good, and the tooth fairy will surely reward such a healthy incisor.”
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