While doing laundry today, I noticed a pattern. “AHA!” I declared.

Mike looked at me, waiting for an explanation.

“Remember when I was pregnant and kept saying that ‘this kid’s heels feel sharp enough to pop right through me?’”

“Barely,” he said.

“And remember,” I continued, unfazed, “when you hugged me and mused that I might be exaggerating just a tad?”

“I don’t recall saying that,” he said.

Wise man.

“Well, you might not have said it aloud, but your expression said it all.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“I’d like to present Exhibit A.”  I flung my arm towards this:

“Proof,” I proclaimed, “that pregnant women don’t exaggerate.”

He looked at the socks, smiled, and nodded.

“That is all.  Now I must go and get my sharp-heeled kid some new socks.”

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