When we were kids, my dad used to tell us he picked us in a cabbage patch. Good try, Dad. Then why do my knees pop just like yours? And how do you explain my inability to throw away a jar of peanut butter before scraping the ever-loving marrow out of it, thereby slashing my family’s monthly grocery bill by nearly 1/10 of a penny?
Exactly. Some skills can’t be taught.
Which is exactly what I think when I see little Mary Virginia furrow her brows. She was scowling when she looked at me for the first time, and almost 9 months later she hasn’t outgrown her scowl. Not even a little bit.
But it’s totally fine because home girl did not get that disapproving look from the cabbage patch.