A few weeks ago we were cleaning the house, something we’d neglected for too long. Pollen from the oak trees formed a thick yellow film over all of the vertical surfaces outside. The dust inside was approaching the critical mass for self awareness, and the growth in the bathrooms was beyond sentience – plotting a coup.
Adam took the cleaning frenzy one step further. I found him in our familyroom with a damp cloth scrubing the dirt and grim off some of our old toys.
“What are you up to Adam?”
“I’m cleaning some of our old toys for the poor kids who can’t afford toys to play.”
My heart melted.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Heart melting indeed. But here’s what I want to spotlight:
The dust inside was approaching the critical mass for self awareness, and the growth in the bathrooms was beyond sentience – plotting a coup.
If you want to be a Muggle, write like a Muggle:
The dust was, like, everywhere, and it was, like, icky.
Would you believe I never read the books? I had no idea what a Muggle was.