Possession is 9/10ths of the law

Posted on December 23, 2006

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I have a favourite pair of purple fuzzy slippers. These are some of my most precious sartorial possessions, exceeded in value only by my five-way skin-coloured push-up Victoria’s Secret bra and brown houndstooth coat. They have manfully withstood several years of dragging around in such unwelcome environments as snowy courtyards during fire drills, filthy ghetto apartment building stairs, and my bedroom. They are of even more critical importance now, since there is no indoor heating here and apartments in Cairo are remarkable for being, somehow, colder than outside during the winter. Despite my legal ownership and prior claim, I have had nary a glimpse of them since winter started, except on my sister’s feet. Upon protest, she assured me vaguely that she had a pair that I could wear, but vouchsafed no indication of where such hosiery might reside. To this day I have received no information as to their whereabouts or, indeed, existence. Aside from the intense annoyance her wearing my slippers causes me in itself, there are two attendant sources of irritation to her repellently warm feet: when she takes the fuzzies off they’re all sweaty and damp, which is motherfucking gross and hard to remedy; and to add insult to injury I can never find them when I look for them. For example, last night I noted that the Twiffle was wearing them when I went to bed, where I rubbed my frozen appendages frantically to restore life; and when I got up this morning she was out. Stands to reason ba2a that they should be somewhere around. But no – I have looked EVERYWHERE, including the balcony, laundry basket, inside suitcases and under beds with a torch. I looked in the bathrooms and under piles of clothes. Whither? Mafeesh. This has happened so frequently of late that I suspect that my sister carries the slippers around with her in her car to secure their availability upon her return home. Or maybe she leaves them at friends’ for safekeeping. If she wasn’t asleep right now after pulling an all-nighter I’d wake her ass up and risk exposing myself to her unmatched decibel levels in order to wrest them from her possession. For now I am wearing these lame, cold-attracting booties that I wore back in the days when I was imprisoned at the YWCA dorms, dodging frogs escaped from med students and shouting abuse at staff.

***note: It turns out that the Twylet actually took them into bed with her! The sly minx.
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Posted in: my family