“I
got two pair of good sunglasses and one bad one (for Christmas),” Ed
complains on Sunday morning.
“Do
you want me to take the bad one?”
“I’ll
trade you.” You wouldn’t want him to be one short. He has baskets full of
sunglasses. He always carries three pair with him.
“I
don’t know what Amy my favorite sister in the whole world was thinking,” he
whines as he hands me his.
Since
I didn’t have a pair to offer him at the moment, he took his bad one back.
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