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“Aw c’mon, Mom! Give me a break! I didn’t go outside at all today!”
“I’m sorry, Gary,” Lucy said sympathetically. The blonde, voluptuous thirty-six-year-old woman raised her hand and again rapped lightly on her son’s bedroom door. “you know what the doctor said. If you don’t bathe at least twice a day the infection might recur. The you’ll be home sick for another two weeks, and I’m sure you don’t want that.” Lucy smiled and repeated the knock. “Come on, son. The tub is probably just about full now.”
There was a muffled obscenity on the other side of the door. Then Lucy heard the bed creaking, and she knew her son was putting on his bathrobe. Smiling, she leaned against the hallway wall and waited. Her son opened the door a moment later.
“Okay, Okay,” Garry muttered. He looked at Lucy almost peevishly, drew the sash of the terrycloth robe tightly about his waist and walked down the hall towards the bathroom. “I just wished that such a fiend about cleanliness, for Christ’s sake.”
“I’m sorry, son,” Lucy muttered. She shook her head affectionately and followed her son down the hall. Just looking at him made something swell in her heart. He was such a handsome boy, tall and with an athletic build; with his mussed brown hair, freckles and forever curious expression he looked like a latter-day version of Tom Sawyer.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.