Some places around here look a little bit more aggressively Southern California than others.
Meanwhile Jane, so fearless and cheerful in other ways, is not at all interested in the prospect of swimming in the ocean that you could see just off to the right if I had only lifted the camera a few inches off the ground.
Indeed she does not want to go swimming anywhere. (Not in a hat, not with a bat, not on the dole, not with IT'S MOLE.) We took her to the nice quiet warm pool at our friends' condo and oh how she wept and wept and wept and wept and clung to me and wept.
Bathtime is a little touch-and-go too, so we are going to try a very gentle swimming enjoyment re-introduction plan, where at first she, like, just looks at some water from across the room or maybe we whisper the word "water" over her martini while looking in the direction of the shore, or something, and slowly work our way up until she learns to swim at the age of forty-six or so. I think this is a brilliant scheme and can see no possible downside.
You'll be happy to know, anyhow, that both shoes and putting things in other things retain their allure. Here you see the results of Jane's going through the house and gathering every adult shoe she could find and depositing them, one by one, behind the baby gate. (Confidential to The Harridan: notice how once again you cannot see any of the other parts of the room.)
Oh! I've just thought of something! Clearly we should invite Jane to throw all our shoes into the sea. This will solve everything and really definitely has no downside. How did it not occur to me before?