Friday, March 11, 2011

Is Breastfeeding Your Husband Allowed In Islam

Scars: Referee

[willingly receive and publish the scar Sonqua Well cysts]

( Location )
right eyebrow.

( Cause )
My mother was a sport. Not me. Tennis. I preferred to make the meatballs with a mess of water and clay. Every now and then I could also dig a little hole in a few handfuls to take full without having to go to rub your palms piled up to an amount enough.

But I was careful. More often, I went to take the land away from the red white stripes. Never subnet. The edges. Above all, I collected when players and bystanders were shot or engaged or absorbed by other thoughts.

Sometimes, I scratch or rub my eyes. Distracted even when I colored my hair.

's will for these oversights, perhaps, that I have discovered. And then there to tell me that you could not litter the field of holes. There to explain that you had to take the ball to bounce first. The acceleration, the slip on the ground to catch those balls that bounced near the white lines, but inside. There to explain that inside the square was not the same as outside the square. There to explain the physics of the force exerted on the ball at different points in determining the "balls effect." There to show me how to use the carpet mat to make the bottom of red clay plain smooth. There to explain all the rules. The measure, the net, the set point, the ball breaks. And the concentration and silence. And the clothes, before he was born Agassi, had to be all white or shaded with small drawings. And the little joy and cheer politely. Then

. I say. I am careful. I'm an umpire. The referee of the court. At least the score. Bring myself to be careful. I say. Shooting on the fingers, one for every 15 points and keep score. Che poi nessuno sapeva dire perché non si poteva dire uno a zero. Si doveva dire solo quindici a zero, trenta trenta e cose così. Se uno faceva un punto vinceva subito di quindici. Mica mi sembrava poi così giusto quello sport lì.

Comunque, la cosa più bella di fare l’arbitro del tennis, ho scoperto, era la sedia dell’arbitro del tennis.

Un seggiolone di ferro verde. La seduta larga. Comoda. Le scalette dietro. Come la sedia del bagnino ma più bella. Senza ruggine. Senza cinghie. Non come i seggiolini del luna park. Lo schienale alto. Piantata su un gradino di cemento grigio. E poi, alta. Altissima. Bella. Salgo su. Mi siedo, comoda.

Da qui sembra tutto diverso. Ora sì che si vedono squares. I look at the network. From here it looks like a flowing line. The players seem to children, only with longer legs. You can see the heads. The part of the above. That is never seen. You see everything from here. The top of the hedges. The fountain outside the camp. The chairs of the spectators. The other field behind this one.

play. The head is: right, left, right, left, left, right, right left. Unscrewing the head if this continues. Right, Left, Left, Right. Then he drops the ball. Then again, Right, Left, Right, Left. I'm bored. I remember the score. Right, Left, Left, Right, right, left, drops the ball. I remember the score. Right left, left right.

falls on the ball. No. I do not remember the score.

Right, Left, Right, Left. And if you head off? Right, Left, Right, Left. I'm bored. I try to move the head in the opposite direction to the ball. So it is more difficult. Right, Left, Right, Left. Squint. A crack. The ball turns into a thin thin line moving. Right, Left, Left, Right. No. I do not know what you are, you, the players. Right, Left, Right, Left.

Look! That does not move behind the ball! Look Ma! A ladybug! Is that true! The red dots with blacks! I'll take it! Good luck!

Flight. Oh, I had distracted. Seeking cling. Tumbling down. Concrete steps. The stain of blood was seen on the red clay. It seemed only damp earth. Like when I made the meatballs with water.

( Consequences )
When my mirror, my eyebrows are not equal. One has a stripe, separated horizontally by a thin white line. According to the ladybugs do not bring me luck. The tennis bores me. And make bread at home and knead by hand is one of the things I love most.


of Sonqua Well cyst

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