|Story Teller extraordinaire.|
Storytellers come in all shapes.
And sizes . . .
I am a storyteller.
I come from generations of the same.
Mealtimes were especially noted for the ‘visit’ after the actual ‘stuffing-your-face-with-yummy-food’ part.
A visit that sometimes went on for many enchanting hours.
When we were raising our children, the tradition continued.
One evening we finished eating, then sat visiting until midnight.
True story. And the very best of nights.
Our children are carrying on with their children.
Case in point:
Our eldest son and his family were camping.
Their favourite part of camping is sitting around the campfire and—you guessed it—telling stories.
Everyone has a turn.
Including their newly-minted, just-turned four-year-old, hereinafter known as LeahSqueeah, or LS for short.
LS came out with such notable efforts as: This one night a guy sailed on a ship. Then he flew away. The end.
Okay, admit it. That is adorable.
But she truly shone when telling ‘scary’ stories.
Picture her. Blond hair a nimbus of curls around her little face. Dark eyes shining.
A creepy, 4YO voice.
And little hands curved into claws.
This is her story:
This one night?
There was a GHOST!
And I DIPPED him in hot chocolate.
And ATE him!
The movie rights are available.