by Five Sisters

Created on: October 27, 2009   Last Updated: October 28, 2009

"I like you," she declared just before blasting off down the hall. Her feet, half the size of my hand, slapped the wood with song. I knew in an instant and without ever being told that I was to run too even if it led us both to nowhere at a much faster pace.

Although I tried, my feet couldn't make the hallway sing, it simply sighed.

Catching up and careening around the same corner I saw her duck her little self into, I almost launched myself headfirst over her daisy fresh footboard. Having been in this home for less than twenty minutes, I was still trying to grasp the expanse and direction of her family's mini mansion; I could have used GPS. She laughed at my hardy attempt to stop and encouraged me to do it again - do it again - when the outcome resembled actions of a clown.

Gaining a ribbon of composer I sat myself down beside her just in time for her to stand and launch off again.

"There's a monster right there!" she said pointed to the top of her toy chest.

"Run!" she warned and was gone. No wanting to be eaten, I ran too. This time I found her off in her toy room preparing the area for a virtual playgroup. I guess I showed up with everyone else, and in just the nick of time at that. She was setting a place for me beside a set of twin giraffes, a submarine "pilot" and a boy and girl both named Bruce. We were all given Dominos to eat and air to drink and cautioned not to spill any of it on the Berber.

"Our 'pecial gesp today is Kam," she announced handing me a great big plate of nothing. I was flattered as I truly thought the submarine pilot was the actual shoe in. Taking the great plate, I bowed in homage and started eating handfuls and handfuls of...

"Stop!" she shouted yanking the plate back. "Why are you eating the monster?"

Eating the monster?

"Shit!" I said [in my head of course].

"You shouldn't eat the monster or he'll give you gasses. Now you're gonna have burps for daisies!"

Awe, I thought, she was actually thinking of me.

"Here," she said handing over a tattered rag that had been long ago loved to its death. "This will make your tumbley better."

I thanked her knowing full well what she had just handed me. I tried to hug it.

"Did it worked?" she asked.

"Yes, I believe it did," I answered passing it back. "Thank you."

"Time for singing!" she actually sang, and proceeded to perform a rendition of London Bridge that would have brought any grown man to tears - and everyone else caught on the bridge as well. I decided against singing myself not wanting

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