Mrs. King had just plowed her way through a popular picture book. It featured the hallmarks of most pre-school literature: repetition, some kind of annoying rhyming, and bold-faced scientific lies.
The appropriate answer as far as she was concerned was “tired,” because the overly cheery instructor forced us to lie down on sticky rubber mats for twenty minutes after “lunchtime picture book.”
. . . after days of hearing more lies from an adult than I’d been exposed to in my whole lifetime—everything from how fairies cleaned up the classroom at night to insane explanations for earthquake preparedness kits—I was at some kind of breaking point.
“It makes me feel really bad. The moon can’t hear someone say good night; it is two hundred thirty-five thousand miles away. And bunnies don’t live in houses. Also, I don’t think the artwork is very interesting.”
“But really, hearing you read the book makes me feel bad mostly because I know it means you are going to make us all lie down on the floor—and germs there could make us sick. There’s a thing called salmonella and it is very dangerous. Especially to kids.”