The existentialist Six-Year-Old

A week or two ago, The Six-Year-Old caught a rather impressive cold. One night at bedtime, The Six-Year-Old snuffled up to her father. “Daddyo, what can I do to get rid of this cough?”

Daddyo: “I’m afraid the only thing that will get rid of that cough is time.”

Mommyo, anxious for the bedtime process to get underway: “And rest.”

The Six-Year-Old, confusedly: “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Daddyo, supportively: “But rest lets your body do things like fight infections.”

The Six-Year-Old, enlightenedly: “OH! I thought you said ‘dressed.'”

Daddyo: “Yeah. That wouldn’t make any sense.”

The Six-Year-Old: “But it would make more sense than a jump rope.”

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About Shala Howell

Writer of things ranging from optical network switching white papers to genetic testing patient education materials to historical fiction set in an 1880s asylum. When I’m not scratching my head over pesky characters who refuse to do things how I want them done or dreaming of my next book (which will of course be much easier to write than the current one), my writerly self can be found blogging about life with a very curious Ten-Year-Old at, or musing about books and the writing life at
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