I'm Hoping It Means She's Going To Be A Writer
An evening exchange between myself and my 4-year-old daughter:
"Oh, Honey--please shut the door, quickly! I'm shaving my legs."
(dramatic, heavy sigh) "But I want you to get owwwwwt now."
"I will, Sweetheart. I'm almost done."
"Mommy? (cue comically overdone 'ominous' voice) "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"I heard a monster. IN YOUR BATH."
"REALLY? I don't see anything unusual."
"He's hiding. There--I heard it again! He splashed."
"In this bathtub? There's not really much room to hide here."
"Well...he is very tiny."
"He is, huh? What will he do to me if I don't get out of the tub soon?"
"He will (ominous voice) drink all your BATH WATER."
(laughing) "Well, that doesn't sound too bad--not for ME, anyway. By the time he could drink all this water, I'll probably be done. I think I'll risk it."
"But, Mommy...after he drinks all the bath water, he will EAT YOU ALL UP!"
"I thought you said he was really small! If he's that tiny, how is he going to eat ME all up?"
(spoken as if to someone who is really quite daft) "He takes little bites, OK?"
"All right, all right, you've convinced me--I certainly do not want to be eaten all up by a tiny bathtub monster!" (stepping out of the tub, looking back in) "But you know what? I still don't see him in there anywhere."
"Did I mention he's invisible?"
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