Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Give Me Chocolate...And I'll Give You The Truth. by Heather McGhee (i have read the book a hundred times .txt) 📖
- Author: Heather McGhee
Book online «Give Me Chocolate...And I'll Give You The Truth. by Heather McGhee (i have read the book a hundred times .txt) 📖». Author Heather McGhee
“Give me chocolate…and I’ll give you the truth.”
Potent words from a four-year-old.
Surrounded by a mass of Lego blocks and smeared tomato sauce, he grinned up at me.
“Tell me the truth, and I’ll give you a bath,” I countered. Remind me again why I agreed to babysit this ring-tailed tooter?
“Bubble bath?”
“Sure.”
“Zoey did it.” He picked up his teddy bear and skipped to the bathroom. Zoey, the three-legged lab, followed, licking tomato sauce off his chops.
No car is worth this kind of headache. Glancing at the clock on the wall, we had three hours left.
She fumed. He shrugged. “I want a divorce,” he repeated.
“Give me one good reason why.”
“Give me one good reason why not.”
“Noel.”
Same old argument. Different night. “He’s not my son.”
“Thank God,” she replied angrily. “My son would never be so conniving.”
He snorted. “Then you don’t know your son very well.”
She stood in glorified fury and leaned across the table. “My son
is more honest and pure than you could ever be. Don’t bother coming home tonight.”
“It never was my home,” he sneered, coming to realize the truth of their marriage.
She walked away.
The front door slammed shut. I bolted from my snooze.
“Lindsey?”
“I’m here,” I said.
“Where’s Noel?”
“Asleep.”
She stood there, scanning the newly scrubbed floor. “Everything go okay?”
“Fine.”
She dug through her purse. “I’m a little short tonight. I’ll give you more tomorrow.”
“That’s fine.”
Her eyes were blood-red and puffy. “Are you okay?”
She smiled…sort of. “I’ll give you some advice. Never marry a doctor.”
We stared at each other. Not my business. I took her money and stuffed it in my pocket.
It was late. I was tired. She was unhappy.
I sighed. “Want some chocolate?”
Publication Date: 08-04-2010
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