![]() ![]() Was I learning not to take things so seriously? Enjoying a random afternoon of sister bonding? Or maybe, to hijack a reminder from Mark Twain (via my friend Vaughn Roycroft), “You can’t depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus.” Mostly, I was just a brat. Why was that so much fun? Granted, I grew up in Ennui, Ohio, where every confession of boredom was met with a can of Comet cleanser, served up by my mom. ![]() I think I went for a lovely teal for the hair. Jody groaned and begged me to stop, then ran to tattle on me. With even, measured strokes, I colored in the face of the princess. I centered the page and swiped my hand across that delicious manila paper. I hummed a little as I went in for the purple. My sisters’ heads were bent over their masterpieces, but their hands stilled. Their biggest crime was that they were younger than me. ![]() The eyes looked like exploding stars of azure, seriously, she couldn’t stay inside a small circle if you paid her. Beezer was scribble-scrabbling away, not staying in the lines, filling in the hair of her girl with a lovely shade of mahogany. ![]()
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