"Mom, that thing on your chin. What is it called? It's so BIG."
"It's called a mole, Sicily."
She looked at me with a wicked gleam in her eye.
"Is it your special friend?"
I was a bit taken aback, but decided not to let it show.
"As a matter of fact it is." I began to stroke it lovingly. "At night after you and Jack go to sleep, I talk to it about my day and my problems. It is my most special friend."
The look of barely veiled horror and surprise on her face was priceless. "Aw, come on Mom, you're kidding, right?" I loved that she had to ask.
"Of course I'm not kidding. You just hurt it's feelings. I'm going to have to spend some extra time with it tonight."
"You don't really talk to that thing, do you?"
The next morning in the carpool line, she was sulking over being reprimanded for goading her brother. I tried to think of a way to cheer her up before she left the car for her school day. I caught her eye in the rear view mirror and started rubbing my mole. She broke into a fit of giggles.
"You know, Sicily, some people call these things beauty marks. All of the famous models have them. That's what I was telling my special friend last night to console it."
"Mom! You are crazy. You are teasing me again. A what? A beauty mark? You cannot be serious."
"Shush, Sicily! Don't hurt it's feelings again." I stroked it with exaggerated motions, trying once again to elicit a spontaneous, wonderful smile. Ha. It worked. Still does, if I use it sparingly.