“What’s this?” Reid asks, pointing to his upper lip.
“It’s just some dirt,” I reply, licking my finger and wiping it across his face.
The speck of dirt does not vanish.
“Huh.” I frown, bending my face close to his for a more in-depth inspection.
“Oh!” I exclaim, smiling at him. “I think you have a little birthmark!”
He looks at me, thoughtfully, digesting this strange new word. Turning toward the mirror, he once again rubs at his face, trying to remove the mark.
“Leave it,” I admonish. “It’s not going to go away. It’s a tiny little mark and now it’s part of your face. It’s beautiful! It’s a Cindy Crawford!”
He looks at me like I just told him that Santa Claus eats reindeer kabobs for dinner.
“I DON’T WANT THE CINDY CRAWFORD!” he yells, horrified.
Oh Reid, you don’t know how beautiful you are.