Here is my third short story. It’s the last one of 100 words I have handy, but you never know…
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By Murphy’s law, my husband’s dentures were being repaired just when our interstate daughter paid us a visit, but he put a good face on it. He soon made friends again with the grandbabies. Three year old Tommy became an instant admirer as the old boy pushed him on the swing, read him stories, and showed him some of the safer wonders of the workshop.
Dinner time came around, and Tommy noticed a little difference about Granddad. “Why don’t you have any teeth?” he asked.
Very seriously, my beloved looked at him. “Well, you see, I was born without teeth.”