Posted by: Louise | September 1, 2010

bedtime stories

I hope I don’t get a bad dream tonight, the Little Boy Racer said as I tucked him in.

Did you get one last night?

Yeah. Dad and I went to America and there was a chicken. I jumped into space. It was a toy chicken and it came after me and turned real.

What kind of chicken was it? Was it a rubber chicken or like a cuddly toy chicken?

It was a cardboard chicken.

And where were the Giraffe Princess and Astro Boy and I?

You were dead and Dad and I just went to America. It was the lots of woods America.

Oh, you were lucky because Mum and the Giraffe princess and I were dead, chimed in Astro Boy from the top bunk.

But you got to be an angel, came LBRs matter-of-fact (that’s the lucky option) reply.

I don’t want you to be dead. I want you to live until you are ninety or a hundred, Mum, so eat lots of vegetables to stay healthy, came the voice of our confirmed saus-etarian in the top bunk.


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