Tennis Shoes

Blake seems to have a wee cold. Sometimes, when he’s sick, I secretly enjoy the moments where he sits in my lap contentedly. I know, but it just would never happen if he never got sick. That’s what he was just doing, while I was trying to catch up on my ever-backed-up gmail account. Seriously, I’m starting to wonder if my paycheck has gotten lost in the mail. Anyways, he turned around like he was looking for something, and then his eyes locked on my t-shirt. I honestly thought he was about to read the “Texas Aggies” written there. He’s been doing that a lot lately, much to my surprise (thanks again Sesame Street!). But no, he did not want to read my shirt. He wanted to shove his face into my bosom to wipe his snotty nose off. I found this alarming and gross.

Me: “Blake, why did you do that?”

B: “I had snotties.”

Me: “Ok, well then you ask me for a tissue!”

B: “Can I have a tennis shoe?”

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