warmth in a box tied with a ribbon and love



5 Comments on “warmth in a box tied with a ribbon and love”

  1. Avenues, conjures images of exquisite Frenchness – Les Avenues – Les Avenues chaudes . . . and to arrive on horseback, in cavalcade and the soft ting of spurs.

    Ghadah, are you a dancer? Balanced poise and elongated hands, porcelain fingers. I can imagine you chortling afterwards. Maybe during . . .


    • No. The Avenues you picture are so far from the truth. This is a gigantic Mall/mini domed city.

      As for being a dancer, yes I am. My children, however, would disagree with me, but what do they know, they’re children.

  2. Our children have an incredibly difficult job. Not only must they endure the insufferable indignities we pile upon them, they must also be our tireless judge, jury and compass in all things fashionable, cool and classy (including music and dance. Just leave Bleeiber (whatever its called) out of it!).

    Regardless, I judge your hands to be exquisite.

  3. Ha ha . . . Are you sure it wasn’t just a tormented soul who turned to sherry for comfort. Maybe not. It does look a little hard ass even though the wrist is delicate. Perhaps the wrist was grafted by evil surgeons who had also turned to sherry because they were lonely for mummy’s bosom.

    Just a thought.

    Merry Christmas XX

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