M is wearing a long-sleeved striped turtleneck. Over that she has on a striped short-sleeved shirt, inside out. Both are shades of pink. She has on yellow pants. She has on a red polar fleece hat (in case of sudden indoor snowstorms). She has taken my eyeliner and blackened her nose and drawn on whiskers on her face and some fur on her feet. (Just for the record, I did not ever actually purchase eyeliner. This is a little sample left over from my last Mary Kay soiree, which I think I attended in 1996 or thereabouts.) Anyway, she has on this getup. I come upon her standing in the bathroom with a bottle of conditioner in one hand and a grout brush in the other. She is scrubbing eyeliner scribbles off the toilet, using the conditioner as soap. She has also actually "scrubbed" some of the grout with copious amounts of conditioner. I ask, rather calmly, considering the circumstances, what the *%^$& she's doing. "I know sometimes you need me to scrub, Mommy," she announces. And then the non sequitur "you're not always mean to me, Mommy." What could I do? I shrugged my shoulders and left.
Tuey spends a lot of time these days dancing little dances and barking at dogs.
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