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The Confessor

He was still neck to toe in his pjs when he offered to help.

Only he stopped himself before he could touch a thing on the counter and his hands hung over the carrots like a magician’s.

“Did I…” he asked aloud. “Did I pick my nose in my bed last night?”

We both stood still as he scrounged for the answer in his head. Then he nodded. “I probably did.”

At which time he smiled up at me and said, “I think I’ll go wash my hands.”


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