What I want
As I left my girls in the bathtub tonight, the older one, "bean-girl," was telling the younger, "Legume," a story. Something about mermaids and jelly doughnuts.
I passed by the bathroom a few times as I put away laundry and took care of small tasks. I heard Legume enthuse, "That's a really good story!"
I heard bean-girl say modestly, "No, it really isn't. It's just a mix of things."
The next time I passed by the bathroom, I heard a squawk and ruckus. "Mom!" bean-girl cried. "Legume is being crazy! She pinched my ear!"
I sighed. "Why did you pinch, Legume? That's not nice."
"Because she won't tell me the rest of the story!" Legume pouted.
After their bath, Legume chased bean-girl around the house, demanding to hear the rest of the story. "I can't tell the rest because I don't know what happens next!" bean-girl said, giggling and running as Legume threatened to pinch her again.
And I thought, That's what I want. I want to be able to tell stories so compelling, so wicked awesome, that people want to chase me around and pinch my ears to hear the rest.