The girls are well-scrubbed, and lotion-scented.
But you, Daddy? You smell like the barn.
They want to be near you anyway.
And you let them.
(I’ve penned this letter to the Daddy of my girls. I’m sharing the rest of it today over at Imperfect Prose, the blogging home of gifted artist and author Emily Wierenga. Will you join me there?)