Bedtime Stories

Occasionally my kids will ask me to tell them a bedtime story. Not read a story, but actually make up something that passes as a suitable transition from running around like hyenas on meth to being unconscious. I am always supremely confident that I can pull off this herculean task, but usually I wind up sucking. It's like my creativity slinks out of my body, perhaps via my butt, whenever I begin. The kids don't help much either

Me: Ok, um, once upon a time there was a little girl.

Daughter: No, a princess.

Me: Uh, ok, once upon a time there was a princess and a prince named...

Son: No, a garbage truck.

Me: Right right, so there was this princess and this garbage truck and they lived in a faraway kingdom

Daughter: No, they lived in Minnesota
Son: They lived in Radiator Springs.

Me: Um.....sure, so one day they were walking...

Daughter: No, the princess was riding in the garbage truck

Me: Ok, they were riding in the garbage truck

Son: Into the forest

Me: When they got lost. They were very scared until they saw their daddy...

Daughter: No, they saw a scary monster.

Me: Uh, that would make them more scared.

Kids: Yeah!!

Me: Fine, but then the monster exploded and died and the princess and the garbage truck found their way out of the forest where their daddy was smiling and waiting to hug them.

Daughter: No, it was Hannah Montana.

Me: And they all lived happily ever in Radiator Springs, Minnesota. The End. Now go to bed.

Kids: No way! Go get Mommy!!