Mr. Indigo's trip back to Mali began in the fuschia lit elevator, which someone labeled the sexevator last night. I'm not sure who to thank for the fact that the menial elevator ride has become something so pink and rotisserie hot in honor of the Holy Days. Everyone looks fabulous under the fuschine veil.
Silver dollar flakes, my exact words. I was thinking of pancakes, and a sign of the heavenly pillow fight that got out of hand, Hollywood style. None landed in my mouth even though I was hungry and it was lunch time, but a fatty lobbed me right between the eyes.
2 comments:
Silver dollars: maybe we were switched at birth.
How exactly does that work? Anyway, we do have the same mother in the ultimate sense. I just go her a Christmas present!
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