Eight

It was the day before her birthday, and Mary was getting dressed.

“I wish I were eight again,” I heard her say.

And thus, an idea was hatched in my brain. The following day, I got up early and made pancakes for her in the shape of puppy dogs, then we went to the local park where we played on the swings, followed by a movie, before ending her special day with a happy meal and soft cone ice cream. By day end, I believed I had done good.

Once home, she stretched out on the couch and smiled, “Thank you for the fun day. It was a wonderful surprise. But, if you don’t mind me asking, what brought all this on?”

“I heard what you said yesterday morning when you were getting dressed,” I answered.

Mary laughed.

“Whats so funny?” I asked.

“I was talking about my pant size,” Mary answered.