She’s just dropped my smart-phone into a sink of hot soapy water.
“I was only looking,” she whines.
“You – don’t – look – with – your – hands.” I fairly spit the words into her worried face, and she blinks, recoiling.
I turn away, awash with shame and regret. I’m not cut out for this – my sister must be a saint.
“Sorry,” she whispers.
“No… I’m sorry, sweetheart. How about we go to the park for an ice-cream?”
“Oh yes please….”
And then her sun emerges; I glow under the warmth of her delighted approval.
Just as I did more than fifty years ago.
Back in the comforting arms of technology after roughing it for a few weeks, it’s soppy stuff from me this week, I’m afraid. Delighted to be participating in Friday Fictioneers from home, under the stalwart leadership of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Thanks to Marie-Gail for her photo prompt this week.