Tonight after bath time, I suggested that I make up a story instead of relying on the same old shit about large red dogs, princesses, queens who don’t march in Pride, or brown bears with white girl intruders. Maddie agreed.
I told a story about our dog Winnie and her secret identity as a caped doggy superhero who flies through the ‘hood at night helping children who are one hour short of an Amber alert and cats who are one hour short of a 911 call to the fire department. “Super Winnie” it was called. It was brilliant.
She smiled. I smiled. I suggested she go to bed, so I could have my nightly bourbon and check out all my new Twitter Pornbots. Instead:
Maddie: Daddy, I want to read a story, too!
Me: You mean “tell” a story?
Maddie: Uh huh.
Me: But it’s time for you to go to bed…
Maddie: It’s about SUPER MADDIE!
Me: Are you about to tell the story I just told, but substituting yourself in the dog’s place? Because that’s pathetic.
Maddie: Once upon a time, Supper Maddie flew in the sky and RESCUED Winnie and cats and Kal-El*!
Me: Wow. Super Maddie, huh? How original.
Maddie: And she would fly and have a cape and she was SUPER!
Me: Super, huh?
Maddie: And Winnie was RESCUED and babies were RESCUED and everybody was happy. The End.
Me: That was awful, Maddie.
Me: Okay, time for bed. Maybe tomorrow, you’ll use the right side of your brain to create a story instead of copying the dog.
Me: See you in the morning.
Maddie: Let’s read “Snow White” tomorrow.
*Our neighbors named their son Kal-El. I’m not sure if they love Nicholas Cage or Superman, but there it is, just the same.