Windy Twilley

Yarn keeps me from opening fire.



Tyler has a shape-shifting imaginary friend named "Snakey." Snakey appeared this evening, when my father-in-law was walking through the bathroom.

"Pop-pop!" Tyler yelled. "Don't step on Snakey!"
"Who is Snakey?"
"Snakey is my friend. He's on the floor right now."

Snakey made it through dinner as a standard-issue imaginary friend, but after that he began to possess Tyler's regular toys. His tiny flashlight? "This is my friend. His name is Snakey." His stuffed Piglet? "This is my friend named Snakey." Eventually he put Snakey to bed in a bucket.

"Be quiet and go to sleep, Snakey," he said.

Riding Home: August 25, 2006
The nights have been getting (mercifully) cooler, so we drove home with all the windows down. As we approached the driveway, the windows went up, one by one. In the silence that followed, Tyler sighed.

"I farted," he said.


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