You're going to have to trust me on this: he is laying in a box.
In the fall, I ordered a bottle of perfume from Amazon. Isabel fell in love with the tiny box it came in. She does not fit into it. Her rolls hang over the side. Her neck juts out. She cannot possibly be comfortable. And yet.
And yet. Indeed.
The really silly thing about this box he is laying is that it is six feet from the tower, right next to a bag, and eight feet from a box in which he fits.
Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:
You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change )
Connecting to %s
Notify me of new comments via email.
Notify me of new posts via email.
Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.
Join 264 other followers