There’s A Story Here

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There’s a story here.

I’m not sure what the story is, but this is definitely not some random collection of dropped toys. Someone very deliberately arranged them exactly how he wanted them.

What story is he trying to tell, I wonder?

Is the circle of vehicles friendly or hostile?

Is the fireman in trouble or leading the group?

If leading, are they up to no good or about to save the world?

Is it significant that the fireman’s fire extinguisher is a foot away, well out of his reach?

Why is he lying down?

Maybe that indicates he’s in trouble. But I could have sworn the Autobots were the good guys. Maybe they found him collapsed and are now asking if he’s ok.

When did they assemble?

And why weren’t they put away when their creator went to bed?

And did I really need to use the flash, thereby exposing to the world how desperately we need to vacuum?

I’ll just ask that you pretend that’s the only part of the carpet that looks like that. And I’ll have to ask the boy to tell me the story. I know he’s got one.

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Making Sacrifices

Jane asked me to try on her jeans this evening. When I asked why, she began to beg. It was an odd request, but I told her to set them on my bed and I’d try them on in a few minutes.

Being of an older generation than her, I have a different preference on how my jeans are cut. To be perfectly blunt, I like to know I’m not showing everyone my butt crack when I bend over. The jeans fit but felt dangerously low to me. They were also uncomfortably snug on my thighs. This isn’t because mine are bigger than hers – guys at school have told her she has “man thighs” (which she considers a compliment). I just prefer relaxed fit.

Nevertheless, I walked into her room wearing the jeans. She looked at me and wordlessly motioned for me to spin around. I lifted my shirt slightly and complied. “Well?” I asked.

“They look good on you. I just wanted to see how they looked. I like them.”

“Mmm,” I said, reaching into the front pocket and pulling out the fun pack of peanut M&M’s I had noticed inside them. “Thanks for the M&M’s!”

“Wait! Give those back to me!” She tried to wrestle me down as I waved the candy just out of her reach. Since she’s an inch and a half taller than me, I knew I couldn’t hold out for long. So I feinted one direction and then darted my hand to my mouth. I shoved one end of the package into my mouth – enough to trap a single M&M behind my teeth.

She carefully grabbed my hand, which was still holding the bag.

“Mommy…” she said in her best threatening tone. “Open your mouth.”

I shook my head and grunted an “Uh-uh!” all while laughing and struggling. I contemplated pulling on the package with my teeth to tear it apart and eat the one I had trapped behind my teeth. She continued her calm yet menacing insistence that I release the treasure.

Before I could decide to act on my impulse, she began to pull on the bag. I clenched my teeth and kept the single M&M trapped. Eventually the paper tore and I triumphantly showed the M&M between my teeth before crunching on it.

She shrugged as she tucked the remainder away. “Sometimes you’ve got to make sacrifices.”