10 Sep 2013 1 Comment
Last night we had some friends over for a bbq. They have a little boy, Jack, who is just a few months younger than Holly.
Last night this certain little boy was sporting a shirt that proclaimed in large silvery letters that he was a “Boy Genius”. We all remarked on it, laughed, thought it was cute, then jumped into the serious business of cooking food over fire while drinking.
About an hour of trampoline-jumping, music playing, and stomp-rocketing later, Holly comes tearing out of the house, sobbing. She runs straight into my lap and tearfully tells me that Jack had said something really mean to her, but when I asked her to elaborate, she couldn’t tell me. Jack followed her out, shrugging his shoulders with a general attitude of “I have no idea what the problem is.”
Eventually Henry comes strolling out of the house with a big grin on his face. I ask him if he knows what happened and he says: ”Jack told Holly that he’s a boy genius and that she’s just a regular Holly.”
Just a regular Holly. As if.