Reading as usual before I go to bed, and as usual, the daughter plops on my bed to talk about boys.
How, now, that she's dumped Anthony, the other are starting to circle around and drool. There's the faithful friend guy, the guy from the other high school who is "the bomb" and another guy that's been drooling from afar for about a year. Plus others.
"I'm considered the bomb at school," she brags.
"Well, being smart, and kind is more important than looks, tho you have those too," I said, rolling my eyes at her unabashed vanity, that she only shows to me at these times.
"Yes, but it's nice being pretty too," she pouts.
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