Each night after books are read and sheets tucked, Child Harbat asks for a story. At first it was a simple request but now is delivered like Meg Ryan’s restaurant orders from When Harry Met Sally. There are requests for specific characters doing specific things, in a detailed setting of her choosing. This leaves me, the storyteller, feeling more like a McDonald’s clerk rather than a chef. Where’s my freedom for creativity? So most nights I give her the story she wants, in the most horrible fashion, then tell a second one that’s actually creative and interesting. Let’s call the first story the sacrificial lamb. I’ll call it Stories My Daughter Hates. Now follows the first of many, told last night.
Once upon a time there was a sparkle kitty rainbow princess unicorn glitter pony. Her name was Barbie Lareessa Coco. She lived up in the clouds, which were actually made of cotton candy. She ate all the cotton candy clouds until she got heavy and fell to the ground like a meteorite. Everyone said, “Oh dear.”
I should point out the name and some story details were requested by Child Harbat. The rest were [ahem] creative license. I should also point out that her response to my story was a scowling face and a scissor kick to my lower back. Tonight I will try for top honors of Worst Story Ever. Stay tuned!