We’re Baaaaaaaack……..

My Friends and Well-Wishers, such as they may be, will be gladdened to hear that I survived the Ordeal of 182 Cuts and should, if the mails are not impeded by war, brigandage, or Acts of God, shortly become a Licensed Salt Miner. These same Friends and Well-Wishers will be saddened to realize that this makes me liable for an Indefinite Sentence in the salt mines. The silver lining is that, while my position at the salt mine is only peripherally connected with the selling of salt, my duties touch upon that aspect sufficiently that I feel entitled to introduce myself to strangers by extending my hand and saying, “Hi, I’m a salt-seller! Shake!” In sum, I have passed through the fire, Daffodil is back in custody, and all is, if not right with the world, at least not in a state of crisis within a twenty yard radius. That, for the moment, will have to do.

Turning five is a major milestone in a child’s development. In the past, being tickled has been one of Daffodil’s major pleasures in life, and we would have conversations like this:

Daffodil: “Ahahahahaha! Don’t!”

Me: “Don’t what?”

Daffodil: “Tickle me!”

Me: “Okay.” And I would tickle her. This would repeat five or ten times until:

Daffodil: “Ahahahahaha! Dont!”

Me: “Don’t what?”

Daffodil: “Don’t tickle me!”

Me: “Okay.” And I would stop.

Last night, about seven thirty, the conversation went like this:

Daffodil: “Ahahahahaha! Don’t!”

Me: “Don’t what?”

Daffodil: “Don’t tickle me.”

Me: “Okay.” And I stopped. Shocked.

Me: “But you like being tickled.”

Daffodil: “No I don’t.”

Me: “You do. You used to grab my hand and put my finger on your tickle spot.”

Daffodil: “That was the young Daffodil. This is the grown-up Daffodil.”

Well, there’s no arguing with that. The End of an Era. Time Marches On. Progress.


On the other hand, about nine o’clock, she approached me with hands extended, fingers wiggling, and eyes gleaming, which can only be a sign of one thing:

Daffodil: “Ahahahaha! Don’t!”

Me: “Don’t what?”

Daffodil: “TICKLE ME!”


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