Smiles: found and lost

Last night I noticed that one of my colleagues has a beautiful dimple. He is a very lovely man but with naturally a sternish sort of set to his face—but his smile entirely transforms him: it is enormous and beatific. He is much older than me and married with children—so don’t go gettin’ any ideas—but nonetheless whenever he smiles I can’t help adoring him.

Being weird, the first thing I had to do when I got home was smile at the mirror. I used to have a dimple when I was younger (two I think when I was little), that my mother used to delight over. But I know they tend to disappear as you get older, and I didn’t remember noticing it for a while, and I was consumed by the need to know.

The answer is that my dimple is still there, but barely. More of a ghost of a dimple really. It’s a tragic business, growing up.