Thalia flicks the switch and stands in front of the powder room mirror. “Thank you Gahhhh-d — for giving us an-othhhh-ther day!”
Nia attempts to smooth tufts that are now more brown than gray before beginning a gentle face massage to wake up their lymph system.
“Do you think…” Cal warms sesame oil betwixt her palms, “our morning ritual flushes viruses?”
Standing next to the toilet, Thalia giggles at the delivery of flushes.
“Can’t say —” Nia pinches her cheeks. “Some things we do simply because — they feel right — for us.”
The job of the artist is always to deepen the mystery.