Today I arrived at my mom's house behind and harried, as usual, and with dripping hair. I asked her if I could use her blow-dryer and she said "sure, but I'm not sure if I even have one anymore." She said she would look for it under the bed. I told her I would look for it in the bathroom. A few minutes later she called "got it!" and triumphantly held up an old pink slipper.
I said "thank you very much" and she handed me the slipper. As she did so, she was distracted by her hand and with her other hand started trying to count her fingers. She said to me, "How many fingers does she have? I feel like such a moron, I'm having trouble counting but I can only see 4!!!" She was very uncomfortable about this person being short a crucial digit. I said "let's count them together" and we did, carefully touching each one and coming up with the reassuring number of 5. "Oh thank you Katie!" she cried and gave me a big hug. "That would be awful for her to only have 4 fingers!"
I agreed, and we went in to the bathroom to blow dry my hair. My mom's full fingered hand now held the brush.
