One forgetful crocodile

“Sleep tight,” Daddy said to me about an hour ago.

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” I replied without thinking.

“Are you sleeping in Trevor’s room tonight?”

I think I was 10 here. Maybe.
I think I was 10 here. Maybe.

“Yes…” I replied. But, on the inside, 10-year-old Emily had a screaming fit. THAT’S NOT HOW IT GOES, DAD! I DON’T EVEN CARE THAT IT STILL RHYMED!

He’s supposed to say, “See you later, Alligator,” and then I say, “After awhile, Crocodile!” That’s how the rhyme goes. And we don’t really enunciate. It kind of just comes out in a jumble of words.

Usually. But not tonight.

I guess I’ll let it slide. It has been well over six months since he’s had the opportunity to say goodnight to me in this fashion. He’s probably just a bit rusty. Yeah.

He better get it right tomorrow night…

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