La, la, la. Here I am, with my toy, from my love, Sweet D. He knows I love purple and that is why, I’ve also got the Squirt’s blank-ie. It’s got purple, you see, and I know my Sweet D, would snuggle with me!
So, la la la, you go and steal a blank-ie for two and snuggle up nice and tight, against the chill, then, you know the drill, belt out that tune with all your might! LA, LA, LA, LA!
Dad still calls me a Niblet. That was my brother and sisters’ foster last name when my angel mama had me years and years ago. Am I still a Niblet? I suppose so.
Mom calls me a Bunny Bun on account I have no tail, and honestly, who in their right mind would want one of those swishy things? Besides, don’t bunnies actually have tails? My tail is about three hairs and some air and Mom says if anyone were to help her with house dusting, I’d be the last one picked.
Viola, are you going somewhere with this? It doesn’t really sound like a story to us. It sounds more like a conversation with a smidgen of complaining. Do you have a complaint or are you just talking?
A story? Who titled this post anyway? Not me. You want a story? Okay, here’s a story.
Once there was a wee kitten named a Niblet, for some reason, who grew into a big girl with no tail and sproing-y legs who loves boxes and crinkly paper and jumping up onto tall places and talking to Dad and giving Mom a kiss every day. And that girl ain’t afraid of anything. The end.
How’s that?
Well, it lacks a plot and only hints at action and suspense, but we see you’re passionate about getting down what really matters the most to you. And you didn’t add a complaint, not once.
