All Grown Up!

For daughters out there near and far who try everything not to end up like their own mothers: give up and give in to the inevitable. I have been mocked for years about the way I clean, how I always have a certain little ritual that I don't even think about anymore. Well, my day of reckoning has arrived, in that I reckon I'm OK. My adorable daughter, who never met a dish she didn't dirty, who couldn't remember if there was carpeting in her bedroom (because it was always covered by clothes) and who simply moved on to the next bathroom if one was becoming unpleasant, asked me for her first, very own pair of rubber gloves. I weep.