Grandma’s Shrunken Head Decorates My Backyard Tiki Bar by Cheryl Markosky
Grandma was whole once, not a shrivelled brown skull on a stand doubling up as a paper towel holder.
Grandma was whole once, not a shrivelled brown skull on a stand doubling up as a paper towel holder.
It’s a pipedream in the playground with Sierra. She runs to the swing. I tally each arc into the air. ‘I can count too,’ squeals the three-year-old. ‘One, two, five, 40-hundred.’