Blame it on the Rain


Since Alfred was watching over The Girl all the time, they became great friends quite quickly.  They took naps together, they listened to stories read by The Mother together, but aside from that one time they experienced flatulence simultaneously, that is all they did together, because as you remember, The Girl was boring.  She was three months old.

Alfred was not three months old.  It is a mystery how old he actually was.  Does this make him a complicated man?  Complicated or not, Alfred had needs.  He needed to eat, he needed to party, and he needed a way to make money.  His job didn’t pay much.  In fact, it paid nothing at all, at least not monetarily.  He took a moment, and with this moment, he formed thoughts in his head.

Just like that, he had an idea.

“Wish me luck!” he shouted to The Girl as he dove head first into the couch.  The Girl had no idea what he was doing, but she didn’t really care to figure it out, either.  She was dancing.

“Dance dance dance.  I’m in a diaper.  Dance dance dance.  It is cow print.
Dance dance dance.  I’ve got a shirt on.  Dance dance dance.  It is bright orange.
Dance dance dance —”

Before The Girl could finish her song, she realized what Alfred was doing.  The Girl stopped dancing.

Author’s Note: The Girl sang her song to this tune:


2 responses »

  1. Thanks for stopping by, Alfred. I came by to check out what you are up to, as well. I love both your writing and your devotion to the important things. I suspect, based on first perusal, that we are alike in more ways than one. I’ll be spying …

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