Aaron and I got to go out on a date last night. It was fabulous to be able to devote our attention to one another, enjoy some very good food (we got a steal-of-a-deal coupon in the mail), and, of course, dress up a bit. Not having all that many opportunities in this present life to doll-up and look my best, I enjoyed pulling out the drawer-o-make-up and painting myself up. I finished a few minutess early and while we were waiting for the babysitter to come, Punk climbed up into my lap and looked me over.

"Mama, you look pretty!"
"Aw, thanks, Punk."
Staring at my mouth, "Your lips are really pretty."
"Thank you."
Running his fingers through my hair, "Your hair looks really pretty."
"Thanks, buddy."
Feeling my blouse with his fingers, "I like your shirt, Mama."
"Thank you." Pause. He's looking at my face again, somewhat critically. "Do my eyes look pretty tonight?"
"Uh,... um... yeah, your eyes are... kinda pretty too."

Dear Future Mrs. Punkinhead,
By the age of four, your beloved was already trained in the fine art of complimenting his leading lady's beauty. Right down to the all-important skill of avoiding the direct answer to a question to which he, if he was honest, would have to admit your failure. I do hope you appreciate it.
Lovingly as ever,
Your Future Meddler-in-Law
PS--A little tip, apparently Punk is one of the millions of men who do not appreciate all your efforts to beautify yourself, preferring rather, the au-naturale beauty you were born with.