We had a really first rate dinner at Amber tonight. When we arrived (at 5:15), there was one other family there and we were seated in the very back corner of the room reserved for families with little kids that look like trouble. Ruby was wearing her pink flower rain boots, mini-skirt, and a blue tee-shirt. Miles was sporting the ripped play pants and a dinosaur shirt. I really can’t blame them for seating us in the back corner, and it did nothing to dampen our enjoyment of the meal. The waitstaff positively doted over Miles. He played it cool, not answering their questions, but turning around to gawk at them when they walked away.
By the end of dinner Miles was starting to make for the door, and Vick was still trying to get some food in herself. I thought quick and asked Miles to tell me a story. He was saying something about a bunny (I later realized he meant balloon) so I decided to follow his lead.
“Tell me about your bunny Miles, what color was he?”
“And what was your bunny doing?”
“Hop, Hop, Hopping.”
“Where was he Hopping?”
“On a stick.”
And so on. This is the story that ensued.
The Blue Bunny: By Miles Oliver Bradford
The Blue Bunny hop, hop, hops on a stick through the doorway, on his way to the airport. At the airport he hop hop hops on a blue airplane and flies, on a trip, to Portland Oregon [thanks for that flourish Ruby]. When he arrives at the airport in Portland he gets on a black train to the country. He sees a goose, a blue goose. The bunny sees a blue leaf, all the time. The bunny walks in the hot fire (hock da-da, if we must be precise) and puts a book, on a stick, into the hot fire. Miles pokes a stick into the hot fire.
<check comes> Miles blows out the candle at the table, signifying, I think, that the story is over.
If you’re waiting for a punchline, go back and read that again. This time imagine that none of the words make any sense, and you have to basically write the whole story while getting your artistic license validated by a two year old. I’m still laughing…