“I think I’ve been reading Calvin and Hobbes too much,” Angela announced at breakfast.
I hid my smirk behind my coffee mug. For a girl like Angela to be reading Calvin at all…
Well, it’s a bit like giving a book on bank robbery to the 6-year-old Jesse James.
“Why is that?” I continued to hide my smirk, all innocent query and parental concern.
She frowned. “I dreamt that Calvin turned into Greta and was flinging my Littlest Pet Shop behind my back. And he was jumping on my bed and leaving footprints all over it.”
I nodded, sympathetic certainly but privately? Amused.
Angela shook her head and turned back to her cereal, muttering, “I kept trying to do new dreams to get the perfect dream, but nothing happened.”
Now that one I can relate to.