100 Days of Writing - 47

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Holy god I may live to be 47 years old.  Why does that sound so foreign and impossible to me?

Katie looks up from her computer to see her reflection in the mirror before her.  Her winter tuque, a lime green knit, slinks over her forehead but not far enough to hide the protruding second chin at the bottom of her face.

 I need to start working out. 

Blast! 

Absolutely nothing insightful to share.  I think I taught my toddler-bud how to say my name yesterday, which was a delight.  I'll test him on Monday to see if he still remembers. 

:)

KAYYYYY-TEEEEEEE!


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