The Storyteller

For some reason Elli has a new routine whenever we go anywhere.  As soon as we step out onto the street she demands that I make up a story.  She wants princesses and faeries but ends up being pretty happy regardless of what sort of madness I concoct.  I don't claim to have any facility with making up stories *well*, mind you, but they appear to be pleasing to a four year old.  Some samples:

A princess trained in the arts of dual wielding daggers throws her weapons into the eyes of a princess eating bear and cuts all of her sisters out of the bear's belly.

A little girl named Elli who owns a bazooka (I had to explain that the first time I used it!) rides around on her tricycle fighting crime by blowing stuff up.

A purple rhinocerous who lives in Candyland goes on a long journey to find out what is causing her red and green striped candy canes to stop tasting good; it turns out a troll living underground in a gingerbread cave is milking the candy canes for sugar and stops when asked politely.

Bob the superhero saves the day by using his superpower of 'Eat things very quickly.'

Somehow these tales, among many, many others have earned me preferential treatment.  Right up until I started doing this I was always the second parent - never wanted unless Wendy was simply not available.  Now I regularly get called in to do her tuck in and Mama is not needed (which Mama usually likes, mind you) and I even get asked to hold her hand when the three of us are out walking together.  Somehow these stories strike a chord with Elli to such an extent that they have drastically changed our social dynamic despite the lack of delicate princesses who ride sparkly rainbow horses on their way to ballet lessons.  My style has a lot more bazookas and sad endings than Elli is used to, I am sure, and that is apparently popular.