Brynn? Never Heard of Her


This is what greeted me in Brynn's cubby at preschool pick-up today:





A hard-cover Baby Einstein "Lift the flap" book with a Ziplock baggie taped to the front containing the twenty-three flaps my two-year-old systematically tore off. 

Then Miss Amy busted her.  Then Brynn smiled.  Ewwww, Bryyynnn, I don't believe I would've done that.

But then Miss Amy decided to let Brynn live.

To honor Miss Amy's brave and controversial decision to let Brynn live I just knew I had to do something.  Something drastic.  I was bombarded with images in my head of old school sitcoms where a teenage boy was caught smoking and his hard-nosed father stuck him in a barren room with hundreds of cigarettes and made that boy smoke them all until he was physically ill and vowed to never, ever again so much as take a drag of another cigarette.

There I had it.  Aversion therapy was the only solution to bookgate.  If it works for smoking maybe it works for bibliodestruction.

I plopped Brynn's little delinquent tushy down right there in the middle of the children's section of the public library and buried her in a mound of books.  There she sat, surrounded by thousands of pages of print, and I'll be doggone if that quick-study-of-a-toddler didn't pledge to never again tear another page of a book by the time she was on her third pack of Lucky Strikes.

 

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