A nice cosy bench and the two of us names rhyming, hearts ryhyming settle together on it and he begins:
"What are little boys made of?
Snips and snails, and puppy dogs tails
That's what little boys are made of !"
Snips and snails, and puppy dogs tails
That's what little boys are made of !"
I complete his venture and sing it all away,
"What are little girls made of?
"Sugar and spice and all things nice
That's what little girls are made of!"
"Sugar and spice and all things nice
That's what little girls are made of!"
He becomes Georgie Porgie and nestles closer, me reading London Bridge is falling Down.. and he watching me with ardent devotion. I hear him whisper,"My fair lady" and I express a raised brow of displeasure at my reading being disturbed.
" I want to meet the cat, the mouse and humpty dumpty. We will live in London. " I declare to my six year old prospective, self proclaimed husband.
"Nah," he says with the authority of that self proclaimed identity,"Not London. Paris, It is."
Am just six years old and so not yet woman enough to realize it is possible for every woman to have her way with a man, so it doesn't strike me that I should argue my need to see London Bridge. Instead I nestle closer, wanting him to see the cat and the mouse in "Pussy Cat". He says the cat is male, I disagree because the cat looks too brave to be male. I say it is the mouse.
"Meoow" he snarls in my jagged ears and I agree the mouse is female.
I am tired of reading out and dreamily rest my little head against his funny half sleeved coat and he hums"Rock a bye baby".I feel him smiling and like "Little bo peep" I fall asleep and then he too snores, and we tumble and fall down the bench like Jack and Jill.
Unlike me he goes to church and being a Tuesday's child clambers up the bench, full of grace. I look with woe at my bruised arm and am definite Wednesday's child was wrongly recorded as Friday's child. He holds my little arm in his hand and prays for the bruise to heal.
Through the years our prayers grow Gossey, Goosey Gander and we meet again on London's broken bridge.
Umm...Little boys are made of dreams and Little girls of bonds.
