Warts and all

“Argh! Don’t touch me!”
“Why? What’s the matter dear?”
“Do not be touching me wiv your poison finger.”
“It’s alright I washed them after I made the peanut butter sandwiches.
“No!”
“No what? My hands are clean. My fingers are clean.”
“No you are be having dah wart.”
“Wart?”
“Yes.”
“Oh that. It’s tiny. I’m surprised you even noticed?”
“I am notice poison and I am notice wart.”
“That’s not a wart.”
“Yes it is. I am not wanting dah warts.”
“It’s not a wart, honest, look?”
“No.”
“Do you remember last night when I screamed……when I burned my finger…..?
“Squeak.”
“Pardon?”
“Not scream………lil ole squeak.”
“Ah……so when I squeaked I squeaked because I burned my finger……now it’s turned into a blister……not a wart.”
“Blister! Blister? What is a blister is being?”
“It’s a little bubble of skin where the cells have di……burned. It’s very painful like a paper cut.”
“Blister is pain?”
“Very. You know how it is, anything on your finger tips seems ten times bigger than it really is.”
“Ten times paining?”
“Indeed.” He takes my hand in his, gently, like a fragile piece of porcelain and licks the blip, mother cat style, subjecting himself to cross contamination and any number of other evil vilenesses. He looks up, into my eyes, “all better now,” and flits away at the speed of light.

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Cheers dears