A little bit of back story, as all good authors of serial publications will give:
Charlie once asked me why I am not ticklish. I have a secret. My secret is that I am ticklish, but I won't tell him where No, I won't tell you either. I always just tell him that to be ticklish, one must possess some level of innocence, and I have grown too evil to be ticklish any more.
So, today I am starting to get a nasty headache.
I exclaimto the ceiling tiles, "I do not need a migraine today! Why does the Universe hate me!?"
Charlie, with impeccable comic timing, as usual, replies, "Because you're evil not ticklish, that's why."
Well played, boy. I'll get you next time.
In a conversation during morning snuggles one day:
Charlie was lying to the right of me, and Abe to the left. Charlie sneaked away while I was talking to Abe, but I noticed.
Me: Where did Charlie go? Did Spider Monkeys come and carry him away to be their king?
Me: They make one out of thorny vines.
Abe: Then they paint it!
Me: They don't have any paint! But they put berries on it for color.
Abe: That's why they wanted Shawlie; so he could teach them how to paint!
Yellow has always been my favorite color, at least so far as concerns the lifetime of the individual in question. Yet Abe has, for some reason, become convinced that I used to like purple best and have thrown it over for another color like some kind of unfaithful painter. After breakfast, Abraham clearly had this weighty matter on his mind:
Abe: Mommy, do you like purple?
Me: Yes, but yellow is my favorite.
Me: Yes, but yellow is my favorite.
Abe: Why don't you like purple best anymore?
Me: I don't know. Yellow is just so happy all the time.
Abe: No it isn't! I'll show you!
He procures markers and draws picture of a frowny yellow sun. The frowny face is drawn on with purple marker. The child has a sense of dramatic presentation that has decidedly advanced beyond his years.
Clearly, my argument is invalid.
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