“You’ve got so many freckles, there’s no place to paint!” a girl in the line said to the little fellow.
Embarrassed, the little boy dropped his head. His grandmother knelt down next to him. “I love your freckles.
When I was a little girl I always wanted freckles,” she said, while tracing her finger across the child’s cheek.
“Freckles are beautiful.”
The boy looked up, “Really?”
“Of course,” said the grandmother. “Why just name me one thing that’s prettier than freckles.”
The little boy thought for a moment, peered intensely into his grandma’s face, and softly whispered,
“Wrinkles.”
Author Unknown
