When the truth hurts

I was in the veterinarian’s office the other day having a lump on my Boston terrier’s leg looked at when a woman, her six-year-old daughter, and their large dog came in.  The little girl was taken with my Molly and asked if she could pet her.
“Sure,” I replied.
“What’s her name?”
“Molly.  See all this white hair on her nose?  She’s old.”
“Like you.”
“Shelby!”  admonished her mother (not sure that was her name; I don’t recall. . .first clue)
I had to laugh.  “I guess that’s true,” I admitted.  Shocking, but true.
Ah, the honesty of children.  I carried on in conversation like nothing had happened, asked about their dog, asked how old the little girl was, and said goodbye when they left.  Soon the vet examined Molly, diagnosed a benign tumor, prescribed a steroid to reduce the inflammation, and recommended surgery.  (Not so fast there, doc.  We’ll wait and see if it heals on its own.  She’s 13 and I don’t have an extra $300 lying around.)  
But as soon as we got home I was checking the mirror for any clues that would belie the fact that I am not 29.
#seeingmyselfthroughrosecoloredglasses     #notreadytoadmitmyage
What about you?  When has a child been brutally honest with you?

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