‘Aunty Madge mailed.’

‘How is the old loon?’

‘Fed up with lockdown, though she’s ridiculously excited she’s got a hair appointment.’

‘What is that all about? A hair cut? Sheesh!’

‘You’ve got none to cut. Mum always said her hair was her crowning glory.’

‘What’s yours, Logan?’

‘I’ve not given it any thought.’

‘Mine’s my knees. I’ve always thought they were rather finely sculptured.’

‘Seriously? Knees have to be man’s ugliest feature.’

‘No, that has to be elbows. Awful things. Come on, what’s yours?’

‘If I have to pick, then my intellect.’

‘More like your crowing glory, then.’

‘?’

This was written in response to this week’s prompt over at #carrotranch

July 30, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that uses the phrase “her crowning glory.” (Thanks to Anne Goodwin for the prompt idea.) It can be in the traditional sense of a woman’s hair or applied to any idea of a best attribute. What happens if you play with the meaning or gender? Go where the prompt leads!