Love, Kellogg-style
Feb. 7th, 2004 01:25 pmFor all my failings as a father, I can rest easy in my status as a Paper Folder Extraordinaire. At least a few times every week, Abbey will come bouncing up to me with a sheet of printer paper that she pilfered from Grandma's office, begging me to make her a paper airplane, or an origami bird, or some such. None of it's terribly complicated, but it's a valuable skill in a pair of 7-year-old brown eyes.
One of her favorites is the fortune teller. You know the ones: "Pick a color. *flip, flip, flip* Now, pick a number. *flap, flap, flap, flap* Now another number. *flippity-flip-flap*" And so on. They're easy as all get-out to fold, of course, but then I have to write the fortunes, too. I do have great fun with them, though, as I get rather silly: "You will win a million dollars, and then get kissed by a moose," and the like.
So this morning, Abbey comes up to me as I'm watching TV, holding her most recent Daddy-crafted fortune teller, asking if she can tell me my fortune. I go through all the selections, she goes through all the flipping, and she reads: "You will fall in love with a box of cereal."
She didn't miss a beat. "Hold on, I'll go get one." She flounces off with great intent, then flounces back, a half-empty box of Boo Berry in hand, which she places in front of me.
"Dad," she says, "meet Mimi."
One of her favorites is the fortune teller. You know the ones: "Pick a color. *flip, flip, flip* Now, pick a number. *flap, flap, flap, flap* Now another number. *flippity-flip-flap*" And so on. They're easy as all get-out to fold, of course, but then I have to write the fortunes, too. I do have great fun with them, though, as I get rather silly: "You will win a million dollars, and then get kissed by a moose," and the like.
So this morning, Abbey comes up to me as I'm watching TV, holding her most recent Daddy-crafted fortune teller, asking if she can tell me my fortune. I go through all the selections, she goes through all the flipping, and she reads: "You will fall in love with a box of cereal."
She didn't miss a beat. "Hold on, I'll go get one." She flounces off with great intent, then flounces back, a half-empty box of Boo Berry in hand, which she places in front of me.
"Dad," she says, "meet Mimi."