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Eighty-Two

Isobelle

I swatted the air in dismissal. “He means my eyes are watering. Not that I’d sprung an actual leak. Carry on eating your dinner,” I chuckled.

Dad cringed in a silent apology.

“Sorry about that," he apologized for the misunderstanding. “So, how’s life in Whitehaven, and you know, with being a werewolf and what not?”

“I love it here. It is a wonderful place to live. Other than that, I’m still adapting to the whole werewolf thing. It’s not as glamorous as it’s made out to be in films,” I assured. “People are always complaining about their kids coming home from school with fleas, and ever since I shifted, I’ve molted like a German Shepard. You should see the amount of hair I have to pull out of the drain each time I take a bath.”

Lynn clapped her hands with a hearty chuckle as if she felt my pain. She dabbed the corners of her eyes with the pad of her finger.

I didn’t want to mention the leg hair situation, and then the bushy underarms if I skipped shaving for a day. Dare I say i
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