Dear L.L. Bean

I'm going to need a new pair of slippers.

Remember how, last week, I told Charles "Oh, no. I don't need new slippers. These are great! They'll last another year for sure."

Ummm...

Background: today I left for school at 7:20am. At 7:44, my phone rang. It was Charles. Iain had performed his patented Missile Intercept Vomit Cannon. We didn't talk long, because the Cannon wasn't quite finished.

After I taught my last class of the semester and put up a sign for my seniors (they had to turn in their final papers to my cold, hard, office door. It was sad.), I came back home to take over for the afternoon.

Everything seemed fine at first. We got an email bragging about Graham and Freddie's uncle David. Apparently he sold a bunch of his fabulous paintings (and maybe sculptures?) in Miami, including to some very big wigs. Like everyone who knows him, we exult in his success because he's such a lovely person.

Whatever, Iain replied. I can do art, too:


What's he working with? Oh, mixed media. A little finger paint. Two bowls of pasta and some black peppercorns (no, not my Sarawaks - as if). Elmer's glue, a couple of brushes, and some glossy paper. Nothing much.


He (I) signed his work with an "I" made out of peppercorns.

So ANYWAY, we watched some Thomas, Iain ate some fruit and crackers, and everything seemed ok. I started to feel silly for coming home.

Then Iain threw up all over me, the bedroom carpet, and himself. Charles flung towels on us, and then started laundry while I dunked Iain in his third bath of the day. Then we got out the big guns: the steam vacuum. Yes, Charles had to steam the carpet just before bed. Awesome.

And my slippers? Not washable. Covered in...stuff. So, L.L. Bean? I'll be needing a new pair. Thanks.