My daughter Emma and I always have the best discussions as I drive her to school. Today she started the conversation by saying:
Emma: I wish I could wear my Halloween costume the entire month of October. Every day.
(Here’s a photo of Emma relaxing after school. Playing a video game in her Halloween costume.
BTW, this photo was taken in April)
Layce: Well, if you grow up to be self-employed like me you can wear your costume every day.
Emma: Yeah, I guess being a writer has its French benefits.
Layce: You mean fringe benefits.
Emma: That’s what I said.
Layce: No, you said French benefits.
Emma: No, I didn’t. I said French benefits.
Layce: Hunh. You said it again. You said French benefits.
Emma: You just can’t understand me because I’m a racist girl.
Layce: Since when are you racist?
Emma: I’m not racist!
Layce: You said, and I quote, “I’m a racist girl.”
Emma: I did not. I said I’m a racist girl.
Layce: That’s what I said you said.
Emma: Mother… listen close. (over-enunciating) I. Am. A. Racist. Girl.
Layce: I give up.
Emma looks at me. She smiles a like chimpanzee who is getting ready to attack. She points at her braces and says:
Emma: I wear braces. I am a braces girl.
Layce: Oh. Braces. Not racist. You are a braces girl. Got it.
Emma: You’re so weird.
Layce: That’s just one of the French benefits of being a writer.
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