Big Ugly Man Doll

I’m making my diurnal rounds, ensuring the brushing of teeth, the changing of clothes, and the getting to beds, when the voice of Number 2 daughter echoes faintly from the mountain of pink fluff she uses as a bed. Not unexpectedly, she would like a story. Having neither the energy nor the voice for a full story at the moment, I offer her a recitation of Jabberwocky. (This is by far the most useful and versatile piece of literature you will ever memorize – if you can’t recite it right now, finishing reading this, then find a copy. Oh, fine, click here. Lazybones.)

Anyway, she is very well pleased by this, and then we spend a nice moment making faces at each other. (OK, I was helping teach her how to raise just one eyebrow. Also useful, but you’ll have to look up the link yourself.) The moment passes, and I lean in to kiss her goodnight, on her forehead. She jumps back into her mound of pink, giggling like mad, and yells, and I quote, “Uh-uh, no more kisses for you, big boy!”

This, from the 5-yr-old. I nearly hurt myself laughing. What the hell do they teach them at school these days?

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