Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Afternoon
Today Zoe told me that she's joining a tennis league, and that it's just a matter of time before she makes it to Wimbledon. "Oh really? And I still don't know what love means," I said. She explained that love means zero, and then she went off about how her t-shirt rubs against her upper arm. Elka said something about a Russki wearing fancy clothes and Annette insisted that love is French. At any rate, that's when I decided to sit down and look busy.
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5 comments:
You still don't know what love means, ma petite? You need a real man or comparable domesticated mammal to show you. I have a little left over in the meat locker if you'd like me to send you some.
No, that's not some feeble double entendre. I live in a remote mountainous area and hunt anything that wanders onto my property. Coincidentally, the last tourist to come my way was Greg Rusedski, in case you were wondering what happened to him. Not that anyone else seems bothered.
Happy birthday, Zoetracker!!
I was going to provide cupcakes, but then I remembered that I don't really like cupcakes. The bread/icing ratio and distribution is all wrong.
Wow. Three years old already. Our little girl is growing up.
Isn't it about time Zoe started blogging about what it's like to be tracked? Failing that, perhaps Quiggsy could blog about reading about Zoe being tracked. The novelty of it all will keep us fresh, like a new Evil Twin turning up on Days of Our Lives...
Actually, I have been blogging about reading Zoetracker. But I camouflage my posts as comments left on other blogs. Plausible deniability, and all that.
Ah. If I remember correctly, it was the underarm that suffered from chaffing not the upper arm.
Zoe
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