I may be a decent writer, but I don’t think I’m much of a storyteller.

My four year old daughter, N., though, can tell a good story.

As proof, I present to you her latest tale as dictated to me on Sunday night right before dinner.

Accompanied by compelling literary analysis and commentary in un-emphasized parenthetical italics by … me.  Because those who can’t do, critique.

Once upon a time, there was a pretty angel named Meera. And she flew.

But before she tried and tried, but it didn’t work and she knew why it wasn’t working.

Because she didn’t have wings even though she was an angel.

(But, why? Why doesn’t she have wings? We will never know. Sadly.)

And when she looked up she saw something swish in the sky.

When she saw something swish, she jumped high and it grabbed her hand.

It was a fairy.

(Of course it was. The mixture of religion and fantasy here clearly indicates a level of genius that is unfathomable to the naked eye.)

The angel was riding on the fairy, like a witch riding a broom. Like Captain Hook. And then the angel went into her house to have breakfast.

(Like. Captain. Hook?)

And then when she finished, her mother found her wings for her. She put them on her, and then she put sparkles on her wings and ever her dress.

(I have to note here that the word “ever” in this last sentence was highly emphasized. As in, “write EVER her dress, Mama. EVER.” And also? Of course, the angel doesn’t dress herself. OF COURSE.)

Then, she saw her dress and it had heart sparkles, pumpkin sparkles and a beautiful ruffle on the bottom just like my nightgown.

(So, she was going to Vegas to open for Celine Dion? Let it also be known that no such nightgown has ever been worn or brought into this home).

And then she jumped and flew with the angel and the fairy and the hawks and birds. And the crows.

And then she grew up like the angel and then she went and swinged on a pole.

(She?  Who’s she?  I thought we were talking about the angel, so who are we talking about now?  And swinging on a pole?  IS YOUR NAANI LETTING YOU WATCH MTV WHEN YOU STAY AT HER PLACE?!!)

And then she saw a spike plant and she cut all the spiky thorns off and she went on the plant bridge and she walked on the plant bridge. And she jumped and got tired.

(I’m sorry, but if I were an editor, the above part would be cut because it totally ruins the flow. Do not doubt that it took every ounce of self control I had not to say this to my child.)

She built a house inside a ceiling fan and she went inside. And she picked a flower from her garden and she smelled it.

(So the house in the ceiling fan has a garden.   Are you sure that’s not just mold, honey…)

Then, she got married and she went to the hospital and a baby came out and the angel named her Era.

(Long live patriarchy and gender stereotypes.)

The end.