For the past few nights at bedtime Allie (my 9 year old daughter) has asked me to tell her a story. I was fresh out of ideas last night so Allie took it upon herself to come up with one herself. After her story ended Allie decided it was my turn. Unfortunately I still wasn’t feeling creative and couldn’t think of anything but a big fat blank.
“Come on mom, you must have a few stories to tell. I mean, you did grow up in Georgia, and were practically raised by your sister”.
When your right, your right. There are a ton of stories there. Now if my dementia would just lift long enough to remember one…
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