My favourite girl

When visiting my grandmother, we are inevitably drawn to the fridge for some reason or another. This winter was no exception. If Grandma can't force feed you ham, candies, stale cookies, or month old cheese puffs, she has not done her job.

One afternoon, my sisters and I happened to glance at Grandma's fridge while we were in the kitchen convincing Gram we had eaten this week and there was no need to roast a chicken (or some such thing). There on the fridge was this picture:



On it, in unsteady handwriting was a note: "My favourite girl".

I am tempted to get a picture of Grandma and write the same thing.