The last couple of nights I’ve been reading one of the library books with sarcastic undercomment – the same book, mind you, just with potentially deadly scenarios that no one seems to want to explore. For instance: adopt a stuffed tiger? Well, that tiger’s going to eat the family. Or, since it has a broken leg, perhaps it’s the tiger’s turn as the meal. You get it. The laughs are a little more forced now and there may be another book in my life for tomorrow, which only goes to prove that you can beat an old dead horse.
It also ramps the kids up just before bed which doesn’t work out so great – one of my bare toes got trod on last night and that threw the whole character of the thing off and ended on an oddly sour note. You understand why bedtime should be quiet time, right?