“I know what I want,” she says. “An old-fashioned rope swing hanging over my right bicep with a little girl swinging on the underneath part of my inner arm." She holds up her arm like she 's flexing a muscle.
"All realism. No cartoons. I want to see her long strands of hair blowing backward in the wind.”
“Okay,” says the artist at the counter. “Sounds like you’ve thought about this.”
“Plenty,” she says. “I know someday I’m gonna get old and flabby. Flabby arms run in the family. But my little rope swing girl won’t have to worry about any of that. Cause all she’s gonna do is swing higher.”
the time she has