Striking the Pose

Che's sitting beside me on the sofa.

Her feet rest in my lap. My feet rest on the ottoman. She's playing Roblox on her IPad and I'm as high as the price of eggs, streaming "Adeem the Artist" through the new earbuds Sarah got me.

I blew out the bass on the old ones having used ever hack I could find on the Internet to give them more volume. 

Sarah's working, trying to stay on top of the forty Developmentally Delayed clients she manages who are scattered across the County.    

"Da," Che sweetly asks, "can you and me maybe go somewhere and get something?"

"Sure," I answer, throwing her feet out of my lap, though I really don't want to because I have no energy whatsoever.  

Deciding to push her stroller as our Dalmatian Lainey drags me, we head towards the playground down the street. 

Before we leave, Che has to change from what she's worn all day to special attire for our walk.  

"You look elegantly bad ass," I tell her. 

She strikes this pose.