Once upon a time there was a girl named Anne-Marie. Anne-Marie was an orphan and somehow had found gainful employment in an apple orchard. (However, I am starting to wonder if this young girl was actually a slave at this orchard as she had this terrible ability to faint from exhaustion climbing apple trees and plucking ripe apples.) Anne-Marie fell so many times from these apple trees (which resemble my staircase a great deal) that her colleauges at the orchard had to carry her body to a museum, where they laid it to rest in a gold case because she was so perfectly dainty and sweet. Only a kiss on her arm from herself (since boys are disgusting) would awaken her from her slumber. There she lay, all but 4 years old and her heart beat so slowly that it kept her vital signs in check, but her body was left lifeless in the museum.
'Anne-Marie' is a little concerning to me as she has consumed my daughter's body for the past 4 days. In fact, that is the only pretend game she has played with her grandmother. This morning, *Mila* apologized to me for pretending to be Anne-Marie and said "Mom, don't worry. I am not Anne-Marie anymore. I will go back to being *Mila*." "Oh that's good", I replied. "I was getting a little sick of Anne-Marie and I'm happy to have you back. Who is this Anne-Marie? Why is she possessing your body? Do I need to call an exorcist? Just curious." I have had to exorcise the dramatic recreation of 'Anne-Marie' with the threat that TV time will be lost for a week. Now I notice she has been holding her grandmother hostage in her bedroom, locking the door. Are we going to torture Gramma with a pile of teddy bears and forcing her to read 'Gulliver Mickey' for the 917th time?
Are all little girls so active with their imaginations? Did I create these elaborate story lines, scripts and plots? Maybe I should sign her up for Roman Polanski's school of dramatic screenplay writing 101 next fall.
signed, the willow
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