Kelsey climbed into my bed this morning, all lean and long and beautiful.
"You're so pretty," I said. "Sometimes I wonder how I made you."
She smiled and rubbed my arm.
"You used to be pretty," she said.
– Wait, it gets better. –
"Used to be?" I winced.
"How can you be pretty when you have bags under your eyes and you’re all wrinkly and pimply and you can see your big pores and your hair’s gray and all messed up?"
I no longer wonder how I made her. Now I just wonder why.