\Munchkin/

Dora’s curly, fluffy, brown hair is knotted from sleeping and scattered all over the place from bedhead, as she walks out of her bedroom.

I smile, wave and help her with whatever she was doing when she got into the kitchen. Which, I find out to be her making coffee.

“You know, Munchkin, there’s apparently an old man who eats women,” Dora says, sipping on her coffee. “I’m not joking either.”

I smile. “Sure, whatever you say.”

There’s always truth behind what she says. ALWAYS.