Pointless, Gassy, and Happy
I normally try to have a point when I sit down to write. Tonight, though, I do not have a point. I am literally sitting here in bed and farting contentedly while my lovely hosts during this trip to Edmonton — Jen, her spouse, and their daughter — sleep upstairs.
Today, I became the proud owner of my first pair of Trippens after three years of private slavering thanks to Gravity Pope, I ate brilliant food at Woodwork, and I got to spend several hours talking with Natasha Chiam, whom I would have fawned over, but I don't think she appreciates the fawning so much.
Now, I am thoroughly spoiled and impressively bloated. At least my feet feel sexy, and beautiful footwear never complains about being dutch-ovened in bed, so they make a great bedfellows.
Guten nacht, my dear Trippens whisper. Schlaf gut.
(Beautiful shoes do speak, but only very quietly, so you might not have noticed this before. You can try coaxing out their sweet voices by gently tickling their insteps. It helps if you know a little German.)