I’m typing at my desk. Little Naseem appears with her doctor set. I want to do your make-up, she says. Check-up? I ask. Yes, check up, she says. She uses her stethoscope on me, its pink heart makes a beep sound. I seem well.
20 minutes later, Naseem is back.
I want to do your pack-up, she says. Check-up, I say. She knocks a plastic hammer on my knee. I am well, it seems.