Her brown hair is so blonde that it shines-- gleams like a brilliant star on a clear night.
 
And sometimes she gets so mad that her dimples look like bullet holes.
 
She lies sprawled across my lap; sitting as if she were the queen of the world.

 
She points out the spots and asks about then with genuine concern filling her voice.

I lie.

Later she touches them, looks very closely at each one, counts them, and asks again...

As shamelessly as I can, I lie again.