Icarus

In less than two years of existence, Nim has eaten three mouth guards, countless knitted items, turds and Kleenex akimbo plus any bit of food abandoned at snout level. But last night’s forage was her most spectacular and dangerous to date. I imagine today’s conversation with her sister Lucy. It’ll sound just like that student who underplayed his first kegger with all the Scotch Bonnet bravado of those knobs who challenge you to serve them something too spicy: “Oh yeah” she’ll say, strutting around High Park, “I ate it… a whole bowl of brownies. Anyone got a problem with that?”