When It’s Not Me
She won’t sit for the face paint. She’s trying to watch a show. She can’t stop moving. It takes too long. I’m in her way. It’s not good enough.
“There’s not enough white! Why do I only have one spot?”
She climbs into the tall chair and sits perfectly still.
“She’d like some more spots. She said I didn’t make enough.”
“Oh. I have wipes,” she says. Better to start over.
She doesn’t turn her head or try to wiggle away. When it’s not me, she sits perfectly still and lets the professional do her work.
That’s okay, the professional makes better spots, anyway.