Paula :: 6 years old

I told him to stop poking me. I told him to stop pulling my hair. I told him to stop taking my nice, shiney apples and running out the door to throw them into the street. That's what I told him. Boys are funny.

I never told him that I stare at him. I never told him that while he's sweeping the floor, in his white apron, with his sleeves rolled up like a grownup, that I watch him. And sometimes...sometimes I'll bring in a handful of dirt from the street, and drop it in the middle of the floor just so he keeps sweeping. And he does. Boys are funny.

"Hey, Paul. Do you think we could play house some day?"

Oh, I couldn't ask him that!!

"You can play Daddy, and I can play Mummy!"

Boys don't like playing house.

"And someday, Daddy and Mummy can have a little baby. I've always wanted a little baby of my own, haven't you, Daddy?"

Babies are cute. Boys are funny. I hope I have a boy...a funny boy.

"And when he's good, Daddy, we can give him shiney apples to eat! And when he's bad, Mummy will have to spank. Is that all right with you, Daddy?"

"...Daddy?"

...Paul?

Oh. That's right. I told him to stay away from me. To stop bothering me.

I didn't mean it, though! What kind of stupid boy actually goes away when you tell them to?!

...

...a nice one.