RATS
L held the squirming piglet in her two small hands. She thought about the book she’d just finished, the first chapter book she’d ever read all by herself. The little pig, the spider, the farm. She would be just like Fern: this little pig would be her friend and she wouldn’t even care that M rarely came over to play anymore because he had a new best friend who had a train set with batteries. She wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if M never came over again quite frankly! She repeated that again, louder, with gusto. She liked that saying a lot. In fact, it was her new-favourite-saying. When her mom had said it on the phone yesterday it had sounded perfect but when L had told her mom about its new-fave status it hadn't sound quite as good, and she could tell that her mom didn’t think so either. She supposed that that was why she’d told L to watch her language, but her mom had smiled a little bit as she said it so L knew that she wasn’t in big trouble. Her mom had looked sheepish, even. L liked that saying too. Sheepish. She pictured her mom’s face on a fluffy sheep. She pictured her mom in bed at night trying to turn the pages of her book with hooves. L also liked to watch her language: she pictured all of her words coming out of her head in comic book thought-bubbles as she watched each one carefully, checking for spelling mistakes. In the book the rat’s name was Templeton and she tried saying I DON’T GIVE A TEMPLETON’S ASS QUITE FRANKLY a couple of times. It didn’t sound quite as clever out loud. It sounded pretty dumb, actually. As she absentmindedly pet the little pig, thinking about words, she almost forgot about M and his stupid new friend with her stupid battery-powered trains. FUCK YOU FUCKFACE - last week’s new-favourite-saying - seemed relevant here. She had known better than to tell her mom about that one.