Fumbling
through her pockets, she said, “I don’t have a Kleenex. I need a Kleenex.”
“Here, Mom,”
I said, opening my purse, “I have one, and it’s even clean!”
John, ever
on the alert for word play, said, “Shouldn’t they be called Dirtynex?”
Mom shot
back a retort: “Dirty necks? That’s what’s under your chin.”
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