asmr ovenbird Her new game is acting out elaborate ASMR scenarios in which I am the subject. Last night she had me settle in bed with my eyes closed while she pretended to administer a spa treatment. She whisper-narrated each step–a serum for the dark circles below my eyes, a moisturizer for my soap cracked hands, a delicate setting powder. Next she measured me for a new pair of pyjamas, carefully unfurling a tape measure from my sewing kit and finding the precise length of my arms, my legs, the distance from neck to hip, the circumference of one foot. I could hear the rustling of fabric, the improvisational scissors, then she dressed me in bespoke flannel, administered eyedrops, and thanked me for visiting her “channel.” It made me laugh–how she was so serious and focused, creating the sensation of lotion smoothed over my cheeks with the cool, curved lid of a deodorant container. Sometimes I can’t believe she came from me, this child so full of care that it spills out everywhere. 260910 what's it to you? who go blather from