I rise early and I'm out of the house before anyone else thinks of waking. I fly off to my Fortress of Solitude to start the day, write what needs to be written, plan what tall building I'm going to leap and wait for the first child to call and ask to be driven to school.
Olympia: "Why do these parents put their kids in plastic bubbles?"
Dad: "Metaphorically speaking?"
Olympia: "No. Actual plastic bubbles. Look, they go over the tops of the carriages like a giant umbrella."
Dad: "I spent your whole childhood yelling at you to take plastic bags off your head. Why you'd encapsulate a child in one is beyond me. I think it sets a bad precedent"
Olympia: "It doesn't seem safe. It's just a little rain."
Dad: "We let your shoes and pant legs get wet all the time as kids and I'm pretty sure your not too traumatized."
Olympia: "No. I can even take a shower without screaming and everything."
Dad: "Then remind me again why you can't wait for the bus in the rain?"
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