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MIJA: Watcha Your Step

April 12, 2010

Mija came in my room, shivering, begging, “Daddy, please put on your slippers, the floor’s freezing!”

I threw ice on the floor; threw down pictures of Ice Cube and Vanilla Ice, threw down my cold-blooded neighbor and stood on them barefoot for two hours.

I then stepped off without a single trace of frost-bite.

“Wow,” my daughter said, “How’d you do that?”

“Practice.”

In the summer, she ran in my room, sweating, pleading, “Daddy, please put on your shoes, the floor’s burning up!”

I threw scorching volcanic lava on the floor; threw down a picture of the sun, a picture of hell, threw down my grandmother who’s always caliente and stood on them barefoot for three hours.

I then stepped off without a single burn mark.

“Wow.  How do you do that, daddy?”

“Practice.”

“You think if I practice I can be like that?”

“Of course,” I said. “Get’chur ass on the floor.”

She stared, “Huh?”

“Now!”

She lied on the floor.

I stood on her hot head and cold-blooded heart for two minutes.

She began to cry.

I stepped off, “Don’t worry, baby-girl, there’s no shame.  We’ll build up to three hours in no time.”

Corona

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