A Story About Leslie

Joseph is napping right now, and I have found myself in the rare and amazing position of being bored. It's incredible. That is what happens when you deep clean the living room on Wednesday for company rather than on Thursday.

 To dispel the boredom and my free time, I decided to spend time on gchat. Then I decided to write a blog post, and the following exchange occurred:

 me: anyway
what should I blag about?
 Leslie: me?

And after a few minutes of thinking, I just came up with a story about Leslie. Once upon a time she was my teacher and I was her pupil. She would teach me everything she learned in the afternoons or on weekends. We had a big green chalkboard whereon she would teach me spelling and math and social skills, and I was usually a willing participant.

However, there was one time that we were playing school that she decided to read me a book just like elementary school teachers did. So she pulled out Peppermints in the Parlor and began to read. I didn't like the voice she used for Aunt Twice -- it was too desperate and shrill. I didn't like how dangerous it seemed just for them to come home with a cab. I thought it was the worst book ever.

 "Are you done yet?" I asked impatiently.

"I'm only on page 13!" she responded, and I just about died. Luckily it was time for dinner and she never finished reading the book to me.




Hrm. That story wasn't as interesting as it was in my head. I feel like I ought to say more, but I just remembered something else I ought to clean.

Endings are hard.

and ps: I did eventually read the whole book, and was kind of obsessed with it. The sequel was terrible, though.

pps: here's a better story about us as kids if you didn't get your fix today.