...holding the breakable.

infalliblyyours:

olive: grandpa, am i pretty?
grandpa: you are the most beautiful girl in the world.

My mom has only told me that I’m pretty a few select times. The only one I actually remember, however, happened this year. I came downstairs for breakfast and she said, “Annie, you look pretty today.” It’s funny how I’ll always remember that. I wasn’t wearing any makeup, had on my normal crazy clothes, and my hair was slung into a bun on top of my head. She said to my little brother, “Doesn’t Annie look pretty today?” And he responded with, “She doesn’t have that black stuff on her eyes.” My mother then went into a spill about how I shouldn’t wear makeup, etc. I know I don’t wear a lot of makeup, and I doubt people even notice when I do and when I don’t. Even though that sort of ruined the whole thing, I didn’t care. My mother—hater of all things girly and all things feminine—had told me I was pretty on a day I hadn’t even tried. All I want is to be good enough for her, and that day I felt like I had done my job.