Sitting with my folks one day on the shore of Lake Como, the Moms noticed I was wearing her cross from her days as a Catholic girl. “I’m surprised that doesn’t burn your skin,” she said.
I don’t know if my sinning has increased lately or what, but today the cross seems to be gradually blackening as I wear it. Perhaps it is time to stop all this greed and sloth and start embroidering insipid samplers or something.
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