Wednesday, March 18, 2009

The house is quiet, I'm walking down the little hallway outside of our bedrooms, and the overhead light is on. John's room is dark and the door is cracked. I turn off the light.

*click (off)*

"I'M READING MY BOOK!" John yells indignantly from the other side of the door.

*click (on)*

"Sorry bubby."

My parents will understand why this is so funny. When I was about eight or ten, I once burned a hole in my bedspread when I put a desk lamp under it to hide the fact that I was reading some sci-fi novel or another late into the wee hours of the night.

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