“Happy anniversary, darling!” I hobbled to Will, setting down the cheese grater.
He limped over, wielding a scalpel. “Interesting choice, honey.”
Daddy’s wedding gift instructed us on all the annual presents. Give of Yourselves: A Marriage Grimoire taught that Year One was hair (follicles attached), Year Four was nails (removed at the root); Year Eight a tooth. Last year, our small left toes. Will’s hung around my neck, preserved in a tiny jar.
Today was 15.
Subcutaneous, the book said. Three centimeters square. So I’d gotten creative.
Will kissed me, grinning his hockey-player smile. “Slap me some skin, babe.”
Day 4 of 31: 100-word Drabbles.
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