Tabi Chat

Today, I have made the bed, scrubbed the toilet, rinsed out the shower, organized my desk, played online Scrabble, done two crosswords, done the dishes, made soup with leftover rice, ate said soup, washed the dishes again, watched 1 episode of Ugly Betty, rewatched the latest Flight of the Conchords episode, put out the salmon to defrost for tonight’s dinner, even exercised* … all in the name of procrastination. I’m a guilty sort of procrastinator, though, so I can’t fully commit to any distraction. That’s why, for the past week and a half, only measly little nubbin posts have appeared on this site. My apologies.

*Sorry. I couldn’t even write that with a straight face.

Deadlines as usual. It’s good work so I don’t mind, even if I’m inside when I should be outside, inhaling the last of the winter air before the frosty white cherry blossoms start studding the tree branches. It’s fine. Really. After this Friday I’ll be done for a while and will be free to galavant about town. Lotsa good things to look forward to. Nagano. Kyoto. And then, farther-flung travels, TBA.

Yesterday, Sean was sifting through the hamper and came upon a pair of my tabi ankle socks; cleft-toed, meant to be worn with wooden geta sandals.

“How can you possibly wear these?” he asked. “They’re tiny. What’s wrong with them? Why are they so small? Do you have baby feet? Did you have to buy them in the baby section? ”

Of course I didn’t. And I don’t think there’s anything odd about having small feet.



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