His little face 😍
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Awkwardly speaking with a neighbour whose name I’ve forgotten, giving their dog pets, asking its name, hearing and even repeating it aloud… while only ever consciously thinking, ‘I’m doing it, I’m correctly having a human interaction’.
The dog’s name lost forever along with its owner’s.
Handwriting fiction is so strangely fluid compared to typing. I hate that I need to relearn this every few years.
Slow as syrup but always moving pleasantly, discardably forward. Unlike the bursty, halting, redo-regret of the ‘faster way’.
Hmm. I think I’ve accidentally added ‘fox’ into the goat-pupper-Thor ambiguity here.
Divebombed by butterflies.
If the camera can’t even focus them, we call them done, right?
I’m not sure my lolly requirements have ever previously been high enough to have reached the level required for such differential subtlety.
Is there an existing word for the transition point in an ice lolly which, while not yet being drippy, will immediately begin to break up pleasingly upon insertion into the face hole?
Teeny tiny tippity-taps of NMM.
Eyeball count: still zero.
It’s all fun and games picking up the world’s smallest pupper, but then you realise this thing has eyeballs which will need painting.
The heat batters our precious, human flesh like a seagull defending a car park.
It also implies that dinosaurs probably had quite a sarcastic laugh.
Gulls make a lot more sense when you properly consider their ancestry. Stomping around, loudly roaring, terrorising small mammals.
It feels like there’s way more going on than can conceivably be contained by the stuff it’s happening within.
Little bit of a contrast boop.
Angrier rain, angrier thunder, angrier heat. The culture-shock slip into seen-on-TV weather.
Roaming the house in a daze howling for lollies.
Apron time.
Ahh, forgot the ‘always put their hats on so you don’t have to paint their eyeballs’ rule.
Using this one to do a bit of airbrush practice. What do we reckon, ‘green’?