"Anything broken dear?" asked a face enshrined by dandelion-puff hair.
"I'm fine," tottering up.
"You're bleeding. Come. I have just the thing," she said, opening the white picket gate.
"This will sting a bit," she warned, swabbing the evil-smelling stuff on my knee.
"Got this over seventy years. We'd mix it with baby oil, smear it on our bodies to get a nice dark tan. Wanted to look like you. Beautiful. Takes more than iodine."
Leaving, I pecked her withered cheeks — beautiful like mine.