A Witch’s Teat
My kid’s got a cold since Christmas. All the cookies and candy cane have taken its toll: lowered immunity against other snot-nosed kids at the parties we attended. My tits are so sore. My little monkey nurses a lot more when under the weather. When the nose gets clogged, the jaws clench down tight with my nipple squeezed in between them. Many nights I cry out loud in pain, trying not to flinch or pull away, just gently pushing a thumb between teeth to loosen its grip on my tender tits.
I’ve been so swamped since 2007 began. Business, Mom stuff, a pile of requests for autographed photos… Jay got me knitting supplies and some knitting books for Christmas, so I’ve been learning how to knit whenever I have time. I want to make him a scarf, but I’ve already discarded three ratty rags I knitted and turned them into doll blankets instead. This one I’ve started is shaping up well and I’m hoping to get this done before spring. Jeez!
Cold as a witch’s teat. Ever heard that expression? I would think a witch’s teat would be warm, sitting up there by a vat of bubbling magic soup. Maybe a witch’s teats get cold when she’s flying around on her broomstick on a night just like this one. It’s so clear and cold out. I wish we were somewhere that snows. Our barren plum tree looks strange next to a lush bougainvilla.
