I'm standing by a storage cabinet in between the bathroom and the kids' play kitchen, watching the activity in the classroom. Chloe sits at the table, drawing a picture with markers. "Miss Becky," she says, "why do you have a voice like a princess?"
Nobody, I mean nobody, has ever described my voice as princess-like. "Do you think I have a voice like a princess?" I ask.
"Yes," she says. "I do." all the while smiling, that perfect lisp and those gorgeous cheekbones.
Meanwhile, a royal subject petitions the princess from the bathroom: "Miss Becky, will you wipe my bottom?" and there's Zach, pantless, assuming Downward Dog in front of the toilet.
I love my job.
Nobody, I mean nobody, has ever described my voice as princess-like. "Do you think I have a voice like a princess?" I ask.
"Yes," she says. "I do." all the while smiling, that perfect lisp and those gorgeous cheekbones.
Meanwhile, a royal subject petitions the princess from the bathroom: "Miss Becky, will you wipe my bottom?" and there's Zach, pantless, assuming Downward Dog in front of the toilet.
I love my job.
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