Shades of dancing table top, in a comfort zone pub, to my-dollar-in-the-jukebox pounding out the plaintive beat of the Four Tops immortalizing I Cant Help Myself. Kirsten, noting from her next door window that I was burning the late night oil, called from her new 4G coming of age gift from her less restrictive and living elsewhere daddy-her very own first cell phone. Yippee! Way to open an avenue of almost anytime communication. Last night, between posting erratically and waiting erotically for Kirsten's next phone call, I was in a new space-debating whilst carrying on an almost all night on again off again telephone slumber party. Indeed, I managed only by keeping her mellifluous young voice closely in mind between each of her well received-"Oh, and I almost forgot..."-new cell phone calls in bye her teddy upon her beddy.

I almost wish I had purchased Kirsten's phone as an annabelleigh celebratory token of my new found amazingly fulfilling crush on this happiest-go-lucky, kewlest tween in wide mouth smile beckoning braces. And, yes! The thought of buying her a cell phone using the pretext that I wanted her to work for me this summer and she would need a means to keep in touch had furled my brow more than once. But her mother could not have missed the fact that new neighbors do not give costly gifts to the new girl next door without intending to make good use of said means of keeping in inappropriate close touch months in advance of summer. It did not take critical thinking to recognize defeat. Thank the graces. Mom acquiesced to Dad's giving in to Kirsten's own plaintively expressed wishes to broaden her new community school acquaintances via 4G phone technology.

The fact that despite our giggle fest, and trading youtube gems into the wee hours (I introduced her to laurel and Hardy️ ↗), she still managed to devotedly arise and attended school sans the need of an early alarm clock awakening (as she informed me on her cell as school let out) speaks well of her metal. I think I have found a friend I can wait for like one awaits the cool of the poets chilled, sloe-gin drink on a hot summer's eve after attending to the evening out of an uneven lawn under a blistering sun-less the imperfection of uneven grass betray my lack of concentration to Kirsten's watchful mother. In other words, I'll pay attention to business and sip from her limpid pools what I legally and wisely may imbibe as I grow with her. Why do I keep caveatting the need to assure that I plot out the best of laid plans of mice and women while tactically remaining most wary of Mom?.

Warmly, ξms