Is She Your Daughter?

One of my girls from youth days is visiting. Carrie.

She's been off on her own for a while now. Last year went on a mission trip to 11 countries in 11 months. Graduated from FSU. Worked for the state.

We love having her here.

After a morning chat, then some work for me, we went for pedicures -- down to my "old neighborhood" because I miss my Publix, McDonalds and nail salon.

Carrie and I climbed into the pedicure chairs and the man who typically does my feet nodded toward Carrie, "Is that your daughter?"

I said, "Yes," without really thinking. I probably misunderstood him. I confess.

Carrie and I looked at each other, laughed and shrugged.

When I was checking out, the shop owner asked, "How old is she?"

I made a face. How old is who? I glanced at Carrie who had her toes stuck under the drying machine.

"She's um..." Me, squinting. I'm a great "mom." "Twenty-nine."

"Twenty-nine?!" Shock and dismay. "I thought she was fifteen or something."

Carrie beamed. I signed the debit receipt. Not a word about how I wasn't old enough to have a twenty-nine year old -- thank you very much! ;)

Carrie has yellow toe nails now. I told her she's walking on sunshine.