“Wait … I’m beautiful!”
I had been lying on the sofa in a late night stupor when a forgotten childhood event came to me in a flash. The setting was “Francis” making a rare visit to my mother’s flat.
“Your daughter’s beautiful,” Francis had commented.
“What about me?” my mother replied.
Francis went on to say a few words about mother being beautiful but that a twelve-year-old had a different, youthful kind of beauty. Continue reading