fortrait

The Banshee saw it first and mentioned it because she’s The Banshee. A very forthright child.

“Tee Tee,” she said, “why is there a big hole in your sock?”

Oh.

I’d taken off my Converse to jump on the giant trampoline with her, you see, forgetting about the big hole in the heel of my black sock, mainly because I really don’t care about a big hole in my sock or a big hole in your sock or a big hole in anyone’s sock. Holes happen. That’s just life. Besides, most people never see the big hole in my black sock because it’s covered with a shoe that doesn’t have a hole in it. Yet. And lest you think I have nothing but holey socks, I should inform you that this is my only holey sock, which I mention because it’s important that you’re still impressed with me even though I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed long ago. Somewhere in the wilds of the bedroom closet, there’s another black sock, hiding whole and happy, but only God knows where and it would seem he doesn’t want to tell me. Besides, if I had a whole sock, this post wouldn’t exist and then everyone loses, right?

“Tee Tee! What about your sock?” The Banshee was very concerned.

“Oh, well, sweetie” ….. Tee Tee’s a pathetic loser? …. “that’s there so … I can draw a face on my foot and have a nice frame around it. Pretty cool, huh?”

She furrowed her freckled brow at me.

“That’s not why, Tee Tee.”

“Sure, it is.” I was straight-faced.

“Nooooo …..”

Less sure now.

“Well, how else can you draw a face on your foot and frame it then?”

“Uhm …… I don’t …. know, Tee Tee.”

She scrunched her little face. She was actually considering how one might do this.

“Well, this is how you do it, I’m telling you.”

“Let me see your foot.”

“Okay.”

I held my holey foot up to her. She examined it like a doctor. All she needed was the white lab coat.

“Yeah. That’s a big hole, Tee Tee.”

“Yup. That just means I can draw a big face.”

“Really?”

“You still don’t believe me? Okay. Gimme a pen.”

She sprinted across the room, grabbed a pen off the counter, and sprinted back to our perch at the table, her expression wavering between resistance and surrender. The Banshee doesn’t come along for any ol’ ride just because it’s offered, just because the door is open and the engine is running. Nope. She likes to be wooed. She has to be convinced. Basically, she likes to feel that she is the commanding monarch and you are her groveling minion. Sure, I was the one with the big stupid hole in my sock which definitely carried more than a hint of eau de peon but, whatever, kid. That’s fine. We’ll see how this plays out, but you’re in control, okay?

Humming God Save the Queen, I took the pen and began to draw on my foot. This, pippa, is called “committing to the bit.” I must commit to the bit or The Banshee never will.

After a second or two, I glanced up and watched her eyes, sky blue marbles, sliding their gaze to my foot, my face, my foot, dubious but mesmerized too.

Suddenly she furrowed again.

“Tee Tee! That’s not a smiley face!”

“Of course not. I’m doing the eyes first.”

“Ohh.”

She watched me, her blue oh’s getting bigger and bigger and bigger until she could take it no more.

“Gimme the pen, Tee Tee! Gimme the pen!! I wanna draw on your foot, too!

Haha. Got her.

So she drew a bulbous nose and a wry mouth and some smudgy cheeks, and then it was done. The big stupid hole in the sock had served its stated purpose: framing our foot portrait. Our spontaneous collaborative art project.

Our fortrait.

Yes, it’s a crummy cell phone photo, but please feel free to admire my flexibility. Not bad for a withered crone AND a groveling minion.

Although I am dismayed at how shifty my left foot is. I had no idea.