Waterhouse by John William

When I was younger I used to believe that that feeling of getting pins and needles, or rather, paraesthesia, was in due cause to an invisible gang of elves hammering at my feet for gold. Being a bit older and wiser, I still believe this is totally true. Paraesthesia is magical; it gives you a legible excuse to ask others to stamp on your feet, tap dance like Billy Elliot and- if you’re incredibly lucky like I was- fall into the arms of a beautiful, straight person of the opposite sex. Once you get hyperaesthesia walking normally seems like beggar-steps.    

I'm sorry, hello. How are you? Ummm, more importantly what is your chosen name? May I call you by it? You're pets- are they well? You know, I could really get to liking you...