Act of Contrition
“What’s this book called, Mommy?” said Drake, holding up a book at Grammy’s house.
“Mimi’s Toes,” I replied, trying to keep the disdain out of my voice. I think the book’s rhyme scheme is forced, which makes it unpleasant to read. I’m also not a devotee of the Baby Einstein line in general.
[Yes, yes, I know it's wildly popular, and to each her own, etc. But I can't help suspecting that Baby Einstein's success is based on a canny brand name. Would the products sell so well if the brand was Virtual Babysitter, or Wishful Parent?]
“It’s not That Stupid Monkey Book?” he said, wide eyed and innocent.
I sighed, feeling guilty for having been overheard. “No, that was something mean I said. It’s called Mimi’s Toes. Would you like to read it during your bath?” I offered.
“Yeah!” he exclaimed, grinning, then clutched it and ran out of the room. I suppose I should be glad he’s developed his own likes and dislikes, rather than simply internalizing my prejudices.