When You Can’t Ring a Doorbell
“Somewhere over the rainbow… Way up high.”
“What are you doing?”
“What do you mean, ‘What am I doing?’”
“Why are you shouting?” I asked. We briefly paused our afternoon hike.
“I’m not shouting, I’m singing.” Cassandra, my five-year-old, closed her arms across one another and firmly drew them together mimicking her mother perfectly.
“OK, why are you singing… and so loudly?”
“So they can hear me.”
“So who can hear you?”
“Leprechauns. Why are you singing for the leprechauns?”
“There’s the rainbow and everyone knows that leprechauns live at the end of the rainbow.”
“So… You’re singing because…”
“I don’t have their phone number to call them, and they’re probably a lot like Momma and don’t want unexpected guests. I thought it was only polite to announce our arrival ahead of time.”
And with that, my darling daughter once again took off skipping and singing, “Somewhere over the rainbow… Way up high.”
FYI: Yes, I now that the song “Somewhere over the Rainbow” is from The Wizard of Oz and that there are no leprechauns in The Wizard of Oz. But my five-year-old called the Munchkins leprechauns, and if you have ever had a five-year-old, they are always right.
Written for Writer’s Digest Flash Fiction February Challenges: Challenge #11 Today’s prompt is to write about a holiday.