If I Do Say So Myself

As the mail truck pulled away on Wednesday, October the eleventh, Clara Grace and her Daddy went out the front door to retrieve what he had left in their box. “Checking the mail,” the little girl announced conversationally on the way down the sidewalk. “There goes an orange cat,” she told her Daddy and pointed at her old friend across the street. “Walking away,” she sighed sadly as the cat quickly scampered under a car. She watched her Daddy flip through the stack of envelopes and in the absence of any forthcoming praise, she finally announced, “talking so well.”