Storytime

 So Charlie has persisted  in her desire to have me tell her stories.  I have some concerns about this, which I will address later, but here is the latest renditions that I came up with for her.  It started out with her asking me to tell her a story, then when I said I had no ideas, she said tell me about one with a chicken with round eyes and a few feathers (think Hei Hei from Moana).  It sorta evolved from there, and always I've included my Venmo for my children's future therapy needs. Envision this as me telling the story, but with Charlie interrupting it like they do in the movies.  Enjoy!

Once upon a time, there was a chicken with round eyes and just a few feathers.  Children were making fun of the chicken because it did not have a lot of feathers because children are dicks, so the chicken bought a coat.  The kids still made fun of it because children are dicks, so the chicken made friends with a one eyed horse, a pig with two snouts, and a rat named Harry who was anything but.

(Charlie: I don't want a therapist story.  Tell me a good story.

Me: Too many stories and you will die.

C: You don't die from being told too many stories.

Me: Yes you will. Too much of anything is bad for you.  Even too much fudge with walnuts.

C: What does fudge have to do with this?

Me:  Well, it was an example.  But too many stories will kill you.

C: MOM!

Me: Fine.  What do you want me to tell you a story about?

C: A monkey with a hat and cymbals.)

Once upon a time, there was a monkey with a little hat and cymbals and he killed children who wanted too many stories (Side note:  She did request a non-therapist story...)

(C: What happened to the bodies?) (Other side note: Should I be worried that THAT was what she chose to zoom in on?)

After the monkey killed the children, he disposed of the bodies.  The how, however, is something you don't want to know and not for children to hear.  He did not, however, dismember the bodies.

(Third side note: I also once had a dream that I was a serial killer, killing pregnant women because I wanted to see their souls when they died.  I recruited the fam to help with burying the bodies, and I got annoyed at Charles because he was dismembering the children in front of them and that is apparently super inappropriate.  AAAANNNDD I just figured out why Charlie chose to zoom in on what she did.)

The monkey did not want to dismember the bodies because he was afraid that he would end up with zombie children. and that is not good for anyone involved.  So what happens to the bodies, say you?  My guess is that they spontaneously combust. The end.

This story was then followed by debate on which syllable to put the emphasis on in "combust".  So, moral of the story here?  Stories about bullied chickens, no OK.  Homicidal circus monkeys who have bodies they need to stash?  Acceptable.  And also, the English language is fucked up sometimes.  Still not sure about the emphasis.