We’ve got plenty of mirrors in the house, but for some reason, our son has come into our room to comb his hair in our mirror . . .
“What a handsome boy!” his mom says.
I say, “Like his pappy.”
“He’s got me in him too,” she says. “My dad was handsome. And my uncles are very handsome. You haven’t seen them.”
I can’t resist mentioning that her brother, who I have seen, is anything but handsome.
“I don’t know what happened to him,” she says.