“Hey, Bill!” I yelled. Bill is my dad’s for-other-people name. “Where’s your razor?”

Dad came skidding into the bathroom so fast I thought his feet might be on fire, but they weren’t. I showed him my beard.

Dad squinted and sniffed my cheek. “That’s not a beard, Clementine,” he signed. “That’s chocolate frosting. As a matter of fact, that smells exactly like the kind of chocolate frosting that your mother put on the cake she made for her book club, which nobody was supposed to touch. Now isn’t that a coincidence?

Copyright Keri Collins Lewis 2005-2014. All rights reserved.