Aging


“I only have 12 more days to shop for your birthday present,” I told my sister. “What do you want?”

She rolled her eyes and turned to me. “Stop asking me what I want,” she said. “That’s what I want.”

“But you’re so hard to shop for,” I lamented.

Moira rubbed her hands together. “Only 12 more days ’till my birthday!” she gleefully exclaimed. “Then I’ll be sixteen,” she chortled. “And I’ll be ancient!

“What does that make me?” I asked.

“Mega ancient,” she said. “And mom and dad are old as dirt.”

My mother turned to my father. “Hello, dirt,” She said. Dad just nodded sagely.

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