I walked into my mother’s bedroom. It was a brown and yellow flowery 1970s affair of a room with curtains, bedlinen and one wall of wallpaper all in the same pattern. She was cutting something out. A picture of me, to put in her locket.
I began to cry and said “please don’t cut my head off!”
She cuddled me and shushed me and sang Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina.
Submitted by Joanne Scrace. She blogs about crochet (mostly) at Not So Granny.