![]() It seemed like Wilma Allen and I had a lot in common…well, two things. Are you thirsty? I have tea and orange juice.” “Did you know my biological grandfather?” “Oh.” I walked through the living room, looking at photos on the walls of Gene with Wilma Allen. “I wish I could say I was, but no, I’m not.” Most of the time, I just did what felt right. ![]() ![]() “Are you my biological grandfather?” My brain told me it was maybe not the best way to ask and that I should work up to it, but I wasn’t always good at listening to those thoughts reminding me how I should act or react. I wondered if Wilma Allen had been as well. My mom would hate it, but she was picky in a different way than I was. The furniture was older but in good shape. I didn’t like a lot of extra stuff, like knickknacks. It was clean and homey, if slightly cluttered for my taste. “Would you like to invite me in?” I asked. People didn’t like to be reminded of their ages. ![]() The Military Diet: what is it and is it safe? ![]()
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