I've found a way to never have to clean the kitchen floor again: spread milk all over it and Hugo will do the job for me. I discovered this in the obvious way, by accident. I'm thinking of ways to extend the idea: chocolate smeared on the furniture, ice cream on the windows, expensive French cheeses all around the bath. If I can find a way of getting him to like the taste of dog hairs and fluff he could do the carpets too. I already know he likes butter. Penny reported that she found an empty wrapper on the lawn today, the culprit sitting nearby cleaning his whiskers.
My cheeks are plumptuous and my torso is glowing and relaxed after a spa day with my daughter including massage and facial. I wore my new swimsuit, and every time I caught a glimpse of myself in the many mirrors I had to admit I looked rather good, especially as the rest of the clientele that day was not small. Until Olivia took a photo of me that is, and I screamed in horror at the result. We worked our way around all the saunas and dry heat rooms, the meditation spots and the big water bed on a terrace open to the elements. Snuggled under thick blankets, I felt like a 1950s patient at a Swiss sanatorium. We wobbled gently on the watery mattress, chatting away like a couple of jackdaws. But she was still chattering as we sat with a few other people in one of the steam rooms. "Do you think the Shh sign outside means No Talking?" I asked her. Her appalled look was a picture, and we dissolved into helpless laughter. What a tonic the day was.
I'm thinking of stopping this blog and starting a new one. It would be called Tales From My Daughters, and it would be a hell of a lot more interesting than mine. What eventful lives they lead, what fun they have! And I only get to hear the tip of the iceberg I'm sure. Probably just as well.
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