Sister-sized
“Mom”, she chuckled. “I think you’re the size of a sister.”
I’m getting dressed for work. She’s already in her uniform waiting for me to be done. “What do you mean?” I asked.
“I don’t know. But I think you’re the size of a sister.”
Perhaps she’s trying to comment on my slimmer waist - my attendance at the fitness center is paying off - not as fast as I want (but then, I don’t go as often as I want). But by getting back on the wagon whenever I fall off, results are beginning to show. I probe her some more, I want her to clarify her statement, confirm my assumption. But she only repeats herself.
“I don’t know.” This time she shrugs and throws out her arms in exasperation. “But I think that you’re the size of a sister!”
Okay, I’ll take it as a compliment. Better than when she told me I couldn’t do jumping jacks because that would be too tricky for me. When I asked why she thought it would be tricky, she said “Because you’re too old.” Ouch!
