He stands, arms outstretched, holding my towel out for me to step into. “I am your towel rack” But are you my heated towel rack I ask him. We had left the bathroom store Wordlessly he brings the towel to his mouth and begins blowing on it like he did when our boys lost their mittens in the Vermont winters. He would be crouched down scratchy face to shiny one. Both of his large hands would wrap around the little dimples one and he would lower his face and warm freezing fingers. “You are Read more […]

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