Head and Foot Massages and Mutagens

After a long and, frankly, odd day I managed to coerce my 14 year old into giving me a head massage.

He’s very good at it.

Also, it was highly likely he was the cause of my need for a head massage in the first place. And if not, then I’ll blame him anyway, because … well, because I can.

Not to be left out, the littlest one asked if he could massage my feet.

Pffft.

As if that needed asking.

Having neglected my feet balming of late, I took the opportunity to have the six year old apply it. This would also mean that I wouldn’t have to get up and wash my hands, so it was a win-win really.

Upon completing his application of foot cream to a select portion of each of my feet, I was just about to recommend to him that he was his hands.

Before I could, however, he beat me to it.

“I just gotta go wash my hands,” he says. “Before they turn into feet.”

I did check the ingredients and directions on the side of the tube for any such side effects and couldn’t find any.

But then again this is Chippie, whom I found lying under the door of the dishwasher this morning, in a protest against having to unstack it.

Last night he was a cat.

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