Princess Daffodil

Princess Daffodil

Daffodil is ill: a deep, wet cough and a low fever. She is, nevertheless, in good spirits and had a quiet yester-e’en of tv-watching, kindle-playing and dog-hugging. She dined daintily on two bites of pickle, three potato chips and a gold chocolate coin hanging about since Yule.

Daffodil: “Papa, why does my Magination follow me everywhere?”

Me: “Well, it’s your Magination, not anyone else’s. It wouldn’t be right for it to follow other people around.”

Daffodil: “Yeah. It follows me around and it just pops up! Pop! There it is!”

Daffodil: “Sometimes I tell it to stay home, but it doesn’t listen. My Magination does what it wants.”

When it came time to prepare her for the night’s repose, we had the following conversation:

Me: “How does your tummy feel?”

Daffodil: “Okay…”

Me: “Do you feel like throwing up at all?”

Daffodil: “No, not any more.”

Me: “Alright. If you think you might puke during the night, it would be nice to have your hair back, but if not, we should probably take your ponytail out.”

Daffodil: “No, leave it in. I like looking like a Princess.”

Me: “I don’t think it matters so much when you’re asleep. It’s dark, and nobody is looking at you.”

Daffodil: (patting the bed next to her) “My Magination never sleeps.”


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