So...I'm sitting in my dorm room and I'm actually cold. I don't know if my defenses are dropping in my old age, or if I'm about to get sick, or maybe it has something to do with the fact that my room is a hollowed out concrete cube...I dunno. But all I can think of is two seperate images of you...one of them is you in mom mode, with that "I-told-you-so, Nina-knows-best" look on your face, rushing to get me blankets and a winter coat and an embarrassing knit woolen ski cap and matching mittens. The other image is a slightly sunburnt Nina in a short-sleeve shirt and khaki shorts, digging your sandals into the flawless beach of your island home, hands on your hips laughing in such a boisterous and mirthful manner that it can only be described as "jolly." But it's not your voice laughing, since as we both know jolly laughter is not in your reportoire (the two main types of Nina laughter being tee-her giggle and evil maniacal cackle.) No, for some reason, the voice coming out of your 5-foot frame is that of a large Jamaican (or shall we say Trinidadadidadian) man. Why? I haven't the foggiest. I can't control my imagination. If anything, it's the other way around.