Last week at my grandfather's funeral a woman that knew me when I was young reminded me who she was and said in a condescending way, "You always had a wild imagination. You made up stories. Said your grandaddy had a horse with purple spots."
I smiled politely said, "Oh, I remember that horse." and walked away.
I can't get the image of this exchange out of my head, and I can't stop feeling so sorry for this woman and her children.
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