On Sunday morning, after a Saturday spent vomiting (him) and cleaning up vomit (me), my eight-year-old son walks into my room and says, “Are you right-handed or left-handed?” Right-handed, I tell him. “You’ll live fifteen years longer than a left-handed woman,” he says, walking back out of the room. He seems totally recovered.
Love this! (Also, tangentially, have you read Soseki Natsume’s _I am a Cat_?)
Love your explosion of feelings and words, Joanna. You're the best!