Monday, June 29, 2009

Don't carry that, or you'll turn into flames.

My daughter is five years old. She writes an elaborate series of comics called "The Eating Alien," starring a one-eyed alien named Johnny-Bobby-Boy. She has piles of notebooks scattered around the house, reminiscent of the piles of notebooks I had until I was 19 or 20 and finally started typing everything. She rarely shows me her comics, but sometimes I read them after she goes to sleep. She's five, I promise I'll stop invading her privacy in a few years.
The most recent installment of "The Eating Alien" I read was about aliens from Pluto and aliens from Texas. On one page, one alien was holding an unidentifiable object that sort of resembled a fried egg, and saying to another alien "Don't carry that, or you'll turn into flames."
I kind of like the syntax of that. Also, I think my kid is way more cool and strange than I was at her age.

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