She asked me to tuck her in, and for a foot massage. She was tired. Unicorns on her walls, and horses of course and a couple hugging. Hands of various races grasped in friendship. Doves and peace signs. American flags, and the Statue of Liberty. I must have seen them a thousand times in there, but never looked at them before. So many different peace signs. So much pride in her American citizenship.
Her feet were in sad shape, red and blistered and chafed; in cool but ill-fitting boots she’d walked for hours along the river with a boy, from town out to the rowing club, then back to the school she attended, before ducking into the local Japanese restaurant for kappa maki sans wasabi. I massaged the feet until my hands cramped.
ummm Mig, clicking on your “old” site brings you here :Logout Complete. Relogin here
though clicking on the relogin brings you to this page. Am I right in assuming that this is intentional? :o)
Not only that, the refrigerator’s full of Heinekin and the television’s all in Finnish.
well, hooray! here you are.
hi, kay. would you like a beer? should be cold by now.
hey… guess I’ll have to update my favorites again. what happened to surreally?
Oh. could you post that link again with the mother of all bombs cartoon? i need to show it to people…
Oh, so *that’s* why you weren’t pinging on my blogroll. I’ve got you now, hot stuff! (That’s a line from a movie, I swear.)
You can keep the beer if it is Heineken, but hey, great to find you writing again. Cool new place, Mig.
Yeeeeehaw! Here you are! ’bout damn time, Mig. Glad to see ya back up, and looking forward to more :)
I’ll pass on the beer, but if you have a cold diet ginger ale I’m in.
this sounds like more beer for me…
(:
You’re such a good dad.
the only thing i have to say about foot massage is that it put my ex-husband to sleep.
thank goodness.
oh. and another thing. foot massages are genetic. they put my daughter to sleep, too.
thank goodness.