fairwell, fair mitties
have lost my favourite mittens in all of my time here upon this earth. Do you remember them? I wrote them a poem. Yesterday they were laid aside during an exchange of money for groceries. When I piled the bags into the truck I thought where are those guys? but quickly brushed it aside thinking they were buried beneath goods and sundries beside me and would emerge from underneath once I was home - blinking in the light, squashed and ever faithful. But they didn't. I drove back to the grocery store and spoke with the cashier. She hadn't seen them. They are hard to miss thought I but then again, I love them so I notice them. And that, dear You, was it. They were gone. Oh please may somebody be wearing them this very minute, feeling the dip of new love and thinking how purely perfect they are and that they are the luckiest duck in the world for having found them. Nothing less is acceptable to me! I have to sleep at night, after all.
Today I bought new mitts. They look identical but oh they are not. They are a little too tight and a little too short and most of all they are not Them (with their squeaky, trying too hard newness), but they were the best of the bunch and what else could I do? They certainly have big paws to fill.
Goodbye, dear Mitties. I'm missing you where'er you are.