Today's Ana-cdote

[conuly]

We were walking the long way through Snug Harbor to the museum. Because the driver totally didn't understand that "next stop please!" means the same thing as ringing the bell when one cannot *reach* the bell. I was right next to the man, for crying out loud. And we're hurrying because my friend Kimberly is at the museum waiting for us, with homemade tacos (and her tacos are to die for) which Angelique had been waxing rhapsodic about ever since she'd realized they were going to be there. ("Ana! Come now or we won't go to the museum!" "Don't wanna go to the museum anyway!" "Do you want tacos?" "OH! COMING! I love those tacos!") I pointed this out, and she told me, very honestly, that "We love Miss Kimberly, and Miss Kimberly loves us."

And we're still walking, and we pass a place where a car has torn up the grass a little....

Angelique: Connie! Look! There's dirt under the grass!
Me: Yes, I see.
Angelique: What did that?
Me: We-
Angelique: Somebody cut that grass!
Me: Yes, they did.
Angelique: They shouldn't do that! That's mean!
Me: Yes, I guess it is.
Angelique: It hurts the grass. They can't do that. They should only cut grass with one of those things that, you know, it's outside and you, *holds hands out in front of her* you push it and...
Me: A lawnmower?
Angelique: Yeah, a lawnmower. And not cut it from the ground.
Me: Oh.
Angelique: Did you know grass can talk? (emphasis here is all mine, she said it quite conversationally)
Me: It can?!?
Angelique: Yep!
Me: What... what does it say?
Angelique: Lots of things.
Me: Oh. Like what?
Angelique: It says "Don't cut me, please!" and "There's ground under me! I like being on the ground!" and something else. It says three things.

At this point we left the grass and entered the museum.