So we're sitting on the couch, and Wrig is gnawing that tender little spot on her forearm, right below the elbow. You know the one, right? I look at her, somewhat quizzically.
W: (without waiting for me to say anything) I was eating my arm!
D: You were? Why were eating your arm?
W: It's yummy!
D: What's it taste like?
W: (as if I had asked the dumbest question in the world) ARM!
(Sorry to both of you who have waited for so long for such a trifle, but sometimes there is so much happening that there's nothing to say, no?)
Saturday, June 19, 2004
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