The make up may be all over my face but it is he that looks guilty.
It’s almost as if he did it while I was sleeping, apart from the great big grin smothered across my cheeky face. I must have been about 2 and he 4. A work of art those scribbles over my face, one that had our parents in stitches even though they tried to be stern and tell us off.
‘I thought it was a crayon’ was his excuse. Me, I didn’t have one I was a giggling 2 year old.
It’s like that time I drew a cat on the sofa with felt tip pen, although mum didn’t think that was as funny...
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