Who’s your daughter?

I’m catching up. Miss M’s dress is finished. It has French seams. The hem is very nice. I refreshed my memory about how to sew a button hole. Miss M sewed on a button!! The clutch is done, too. 

Kat called!

Daughter C sent me a lot of photographs taken with her eye. 

This is what Missy & I talked about last evening.



“Marica?”

“Yes, Missy?”

“ruufffffff.”

“I’m confused.”

“Ohhh. What’s the trouble?”

“Well, … “

“ruff”

“Oh good grief.”

“Carry on… “

“Well, I’m confused because you call me “girl” and Daughter C called me “Sister” which means I should have… . Oh, Marica… . I’m so sorry! I didn’t know you were my mother. I didn’t get you anything.”

“Oh! Missy! Don’t be silly. We love you, but you’re a dog. ‘Girl’ is a term of endearment– as is ‘Sister.’ You’re a dog. You gave to me a very nice present today. You were a goooood dooog.”

“Stop patronizing me.”

“Sorry.”

“ruff”

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