To which I replied, "It's because Mommy is a writer. All of my junk is stored up here." Taps forehead. "And that's where I like it because I take it with me wherever I go."
Daughter studies me with a frown. "What do you mean?"
"When I'm on the treadmill at the gym, my junk comes to life and it's like watching a movie while I exercise. Only, no one else can see it."
"Is that why you never hear me the first time I talk to you?"
............... long pause...............
"Did you say something, Sweetie?"
Daughter rolls eyes.
Is it just me, or are all writers' heads filled to the brim?