About a year ago, Little L. and I were having breakfast and telling stories. We were going through a storytelling phase, where we did this a lot. I'd say, "L. you got any stories for me?" Then she would launch in to a story. Sometimes her stories were true. Often they were about Indigo, our dog. Sometimes they were fantasy.
One morning, I asked L. if she had any stories for me, and she told me a ridiculously hilarious story about a lizard who lived in a garbage can. He ate old smelly tuna fish and had to sleep in a moldy sock. The randomness and disgusting-ness of her story was so out-of-the-blue that she had me in stitches.
Little L. is a kid who thrives off of making people laugh; she's a little bit of a class clown. So, since I cracked up at her first Garbage Lizard story, can you guess what happens for now on whenever I ask her to tell a story?
If you know any three or four year olds, you know exactly what happens. Now, every time I ask for a story, the first (and sometimes only) story she wants to tell is Garbage Lizard.
Here she is, a year later, still trotting out that old chestnut.
Let me just say, it was funnier the first time.