It’s Saturday morning. I am standing at the counter at my local auto shop, waiting to pay for the oil change they just performed on my car. I have my debit card out and while I wait for my bill, use the card to flick around a little piece of paper that was left on the counter.
The clerk at the counter looks at me with a raised eyebrow, and then says with a wry smile, “Are you playing?”
I laugh and explain to her that I was just at the playground with my daughter, and that the effects haven’t quite worn off yet.
Then, almost as an aside, she says, “Well, she will grow up to break your heart, I can promise you that.”
I am really caught off guard by this comment. Lately, I have been thinking a lot about how Reilly might turn out to be a difficult teenager, but until this moment, haven’t yet considered that my heart might get broken in the process.
Not knowing what to say, I just mumble, “I believe you’re right,” and then sign my receipt and head out the door.
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