Plastic Surgery

On a recent visit, Kylie must have been behaving better than usual, because I agreed to let her stay overnight. Since she didn’t have anything clean to wear to church the next day, we went to Meijer’s and, low and behold, there was a Disney Princess nightgown in just her size. In pink. It even came with a silver wand.

After we returned home, I came into the computer room to write and she went off to play. A little while later, she materialized at my side.

Reaching up to tap my shoulder with her wand, she said, “There, Grandma, you’re a princess!”

I clasped my hands at my breast. “Am I pretty?” I asked breathlessly.

She looked me up and down and her expression became grim. “Not yet.”

For the next ten minutes, with furrowed brow and pursed lips, she tapped various parts of my anatomy.

Finally, she lifted her wand and waved it dismissively. “There,” she said.

Although it was unspoken, the message was clear: “It’s just a plastic wand. Don’t expect miracles.”