I recently visited a circus wedding. I am referring to a theme-based wedding, not a wedding “under the big spike”, although there were many fanciful clowns and Shenanigans that might be difficult to distinguish between the two.
Next to the tent was a table with curiosity oriented towards the circus, presented as playing cards for the pleasure of the guests. You can remove a Dudley Do-Right foam enthusiastically or use a taste of sweet and sweet candy. Or perhaps the pragmatic guest (with December at the corner) could choose one of the red foam nose, which makes it definitely useful for Christmas. But it seemed to me a risky temptation to choose my mustache because I had recently seen small hairs coming out of the upper lip, where there was no one. And although they are easy to eat candy, I confess that I’m a fetish cotton hairdresser believe that eating a pre-packed bucket devoid of the pleasures of their purpose and sticky Lude intentions. My lack of pragmatism (but to my credit, my knowledge of this lack) left me with the musky red nose, because I would never find it at the time of need. Surely, it would look a day behind a chest of drawers or under a stack of books for a cleaning test, probably around Easter, and then a rootstock at the end of my nose.
I did not want to exercise my freedom, do not choose what is not of a character to me, because I loved a gift as I looked a bit magical on the third triangular heart. Human hands, small and human, perched on a straw, were placed in a jar to embody a bouquet of beige daisies diminished. There was a sweet sweetness on her and I enjoyed it immediately. Without thinking or hesitating, I shaken him from his previous disposition and chose the mannequin of a small human hand to accompany me during the evening.
The little hand and I never did it right away. In the following weeks I often pulled the shirt off my shirt and threw my small hand on my finger to allow the size of the puppy and the life of my auctions. I chased small size large nickel with the energy foods that loaded my suitcase. To mitigate the monotony of waiters and bored waitresses, I beat her cheeks at restaurants as if I wanted to make a hard menu choice. I sat in the car at the stops and caressed the chin with a very small hand, offering the pilot the sight of someone thinking of the universe, giving them a funny story to share at the table or between office booths. All these little acts seemed to bring some humor. And think I took it in her hand.
I liked the end lillipoutienne and fleshy rubber figures, all the size of a game, as I brought my purse, like a falangea talisman. Then one day I saw the opportunity to use my little hand to forge a bond with my teenage son. He and I were together in the car to make commissions, though a bit of pity on him, and I was able to tell through the impatient and disturbing conversation he was tired of the process. Today’s youth has no resistance against the boredom that continues to fight against the shores of everyday life, so I did a quick action and made a hasty decision just as I did so – robust with good intentions and a complete lack of forecast. I did not even spared a moment to look at how this action is perceived. I went before the wicked.
I trained the trace of her favorite fast food show, and he sat down with the dog’s expression out of a dog listening to croquettes falling into a bowl. We have our order and I opened my wallet to get my credit card. There was a small hand and he made me a hello. Even small gestures deserve recognition.