Thalia chose a chair right next to the fireplace where the quad squad waited for their blood draw. The warmth soothed cold fingers and a slightly elevated blood pressure.
It doesn’t have to hurt.
Soaking in human connection, like a sea sponge holds salt water, Typist asked questions about her caregivers and jotted notes on an exam room pilfered sticky note.
“The Benadryl has gone in…” Tal sang. “Feeling groovy!”
“Maybe we should stop writing?” Cal nibbled cheese, crackers, and mealy chunks of apple.
“No.” Nia wiggled her toes. “We’ve got this!”
“Instagram’s surveillance of Typist’s activity is slipping,” Thalia mumbled. “Maybe they should consult with the clinic? You know… so that they know what kind of ads to send?”
Cal and Nia roared with laughter.
“No need for the “reframe app” they keep trying to sell us?” asked Cal. “Typist gave up alcohol more than a month ago.”
“And what’s up with the peach fuzz shaving tool they want her to buy?” asked Nia. “Typist’s face will soon be as hairless as a baby’s bottom!”
A word from Typist:
And though she be but little, she is fierce!
Kindly disregard any grammatical errors or typos today. 😊
What a beautiful fireplace to make your time less painful. I didn't catch a single typo. Are the muses copyediting for you, perhaps?
I had a hen who could count her own eggs. She was a mathemachicken. 😁