by Steve Mitchell
“Stan, which looks better, my nose or my smile?” Cassandra looked at her nose and her smile in the bathroom mirror.
Stan stopped in the doorway. “Which what now?”
“After, you know, after all the work, which looks better, my nose or my teeth? I can’t decide.”
“They both look great, Sweetheart.”
“No, don’t say that. Choose. You have to pick one.”
Stan scratched his ear. “I have to pick your teeth or I have to pick your nose?”
“Yeah.” Cassandra turned from the mirror to face Stan.
“Is this going to be a fight, like when you made me choose either the banjo or cherries?”
“That one was your fault.”
“Well. They’re both great and you’re beautiful on the outside and on the inside. So, I pick … your brain.”
“And I pick your butt.”
© Steve Mitchell 2015