Today is a Frannie-goes-to-grandma’s day. It is quiet. We went to Ballard with our not-so-much money and had breakfast at Vera’s, then went to the kids’ bookstore where I bought a book for my favorite little footstool.

Mr. Husband and I were flipping through the cheepy books (paperbacks) because it’s what we can afford, and I can’t justify spending money on nice hardbacks and then turning them over to the Rending Claws of Doom.

“Hey, lookit this one,” Mr. Husband said. He was holding a book with a huddled child drawn on the cover. It was titled Hiding From the Nazis.

“Ugh, why don’t we just get it over with and buy her the companion book, God Hates You, and So Does Your Mommy and Daddy.”

We were snortling at our cleverness as we flipped through, and I started seeing all sorts of weirdy stuff. The Dead Bird. It’s Not Your Fault, Koko Bear. Dad! Why’d You Leave Me! I Had a Friend Named Peter. Charlotte’s Web.

I was getting skeeved. I don’t really know how I’d deal with that stuff. I am a big talker, so I’d probably just talk to her as things came up.

“Lyle, Lyle Crocodile, or Froggy Goes For Bike Ride?” I said, holding them up.

“Lyle,” Mr. Husband said, and we cut out of there.