Day 75: Hand me down

Yes, that’s me, and no, I was not a refugee from Russia. I am the youngest of four girls, and we all wore hand-me-downs from our cousins and siblings. They were sometimes embarrassingly ugly and shabby, but we¬†were not allowed to complain about this. “Your father works hard,” Mom would say. The implication being, Whatever … read more Day 75: Hand me down