Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about genes. Yes, genes, not jeans, although denims get into the picture too.
For instance, my mom (not allowed to say her age or she’ll never talk to me again – let’s just say the first number starts with a ‘9’), wears the cutest jeans. I hope I have her genes, but so far I haven’t found one genome we share. She’s tiny and cute and flirty. I’m tall and not-as-cute and serious. See? Continue reading