Many’s the time I despair of my brother. Boys just don’t get real life. Too wrapped up in dinosaurs and space. I prefer to dedicate my spare time to the pursuit of real life possibilities, such as becoming a princess and marrying a prince, flying high on a rose-covered swing, and drifting across the bridge of a glittering pond. In a secret garden.
It has a space ship, an alien, Jupiter, that one with the rings around it, a lightening bolt, and that tiny dot on the right? Pluto. So he’s at least got the size differentials sorted in his 4 year old head. And his writing’s getting better, don’t you think? Still, as gardens go, it’s hardly aspirational, is it?
Now, back to me. For reasons which are entirely beyond me Mummy laughed when she overheard me commenting on the Bug’s new Darth Vader pants:
“When I get new pants I’m so going to get One Direction on them”
Equally, I’m sure I saw her cover a smirk as I commented on how much I wish I had the ability to write like the Tooth Fairy. What? I do. It’s all joined up, and perfect!
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