cried Stifler as he stared aghast into his chapter book. He looked to his buddy to confirm his theory. I raised an eyebrow and eavesdropped with interest.
"Nah...I don't think so," echoed his friend. He pointed to me for confirmation.
"Mrs. R! This book has a typo! It says that this professor is a woman! Women can't be professors!" Stifler gasped to me, clearly concerned about the literary accuracy of his novel.
I half-closed my eyes, tilted my head and gazed at him disdainfully, daring him to continue.
"What?"he said, shifting uncomfortably.
I cleared my throat and spoke slowly and clearly to his ten year old sexist brain. "Women can be anything." I spoke carefully. "Except for men. My best friend is actually a professor." I stared at him, waiting patiently for his "aha moment." I waited.
He squinted. He thought. He spoke at last. "Your best friend is a guy?!"
Sigh.
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2 comments:
Oh, that is so depressing. You can just imagine the conversations that take place in the child's home, can't you?
OH MY GOD!!!! Did you look at your traffic counter?
I was going to post my comment under another topic, but I thought maybe this one was feeling a little lonely and wanted company (hee hee). I also have that little "clingy" thing.
I really enjoy reading your blog. Very good writing here.
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