Daughter: What's your name from?
Me: Probably Cassandra. The prophetess who could see into the future.
Daughter: Can you see me as a teenager?
Me: Yep. You're beautiful.
Daughter: Is my hair blonde?
Daughter: So you DIDN'T let me dye my hair.
Son, looking through old photos: No offence, mom. But I don't like what you did with your hair in the teen years.
Me, having a meltdown, to Hubby: I mean... What's the point in just existing? I come home, I watch Netflix, I'm happy. But I'm going to look up in twenty years and I'll be 63 and then what?
Hubby, wryly: Oh, they'll have come out with more movies by then.
Indies First Celebration at Tattered Cover
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