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The Logic Behind Fairytales
“I want to cuddle!” Little arms reached up, trying to grasp at typing hands.
“Daddy’s got a deadline, sweety.” He made the mistake of glancing sideways, catching the pout of his daughter’s lips, and he sighed when he saw her head droop. “How about a deal? I’ll let you sit on my lap, for now, I’ll finish this up, and then we’ll snuggle, okay?”
Her head popped back up. “Bedtime story too?”
He scratched the back of his head, chuckling. “Sure, I’ll try.”
She grinned, reaching her arms back up, and her father lifted her into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his ribs, settling into a hug as he tried to type and bounce her on his knee. She giggled as she rocked, tightening her fists into his shirt. He smiled as he blinked and rubbed his burning eyes.
“Calculate the stat, format the graph, try not to throw the computer at the wall…” He sighed as the graph appeared on the screen. “Thank God! Now, just attach, write a nice email, and send.”
“All done?” She yanked on his shirt, staring up at him as he slumped back in the chair.
She hopped down, clapping as he dragged himself up and followed her to her room. “Is that what you do all the time?”
He stepped in, closing the door behind him. “Yep, numbers, calculations, graphs, statistics…” He smiled.
“That sounds boring. Do you really like it?” She crawled under the covers, waiting for him.
He joined her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Sure I do. It’s precise, predictable.”
“Don’t you get sick of doing the same thing all the time?”
He laughed. “The only time I get sick of it is when people or technology take all the fun out of it. Maybe you can help me when you’re older.”
She shook her head. “No way, I wanna do something more fun.”
“Oh yeah, like what?”
She paused, resting her chin in her hands. “I wish we could go into books. Then I could have a different adventure every day!”
“That reminds me, I owe you a story, huh?” He shifted out of bed, heading for her bookshelf.
She grinned, nodding. “Hey, no cheating, daddy!”
He stopped before he could grab a book, turning back to her. “You said you wanted a bedtime story.”
“Make one up for me!”
How could he say no to those eyes? He climbed back into the bed, laying down with her.
“Alright, uh, once upon a time there was an evil dragon who-”
She pouted. “Why do all the dragons have to be bad?”
“Well, they breathe fire, so statistically speaking it’s more likely they’d do something like burn the village or attack the villagers.”
She gasped, pulling the covers up to hide. “They can’t do that. They can’t burn the village down!”
“Cause then there wouldn’t be a fairytale!”
He opened his mouth, but no sound came. How could he argue with that logic?